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EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS

FICTION

MASTER AND MAN
AND OTHER TALES, BY
COUNT LEO TOLSTOI

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1

"MASTERan^

MAHandot/ier
Parables ondTales
^ Count LEO
TOLSTOI'^

LONDON: PUBLISHED
byJ-MDENT &SONSIF
AND IN NE^^ VORK
BY E'P- DUTTON^CC

First Issue of this Edition . 1910
Reprinted .... 1911

All rights reserved

)Cb5
^ ^JNTRODUCTION

Tolstoi was still a young man when the Crimean
War broke out; but we may date from the years of
Tchernaya and Sevastopol the change in him, which
at length turned him from a novehst into a fabuhst
and maker of parables. After the war he enjoyed
two years of St Petersburgh society, where his rank
and his fame as a soldier and as a writer opened to
him all that was most alluring, most Hkely to attract
a man of his temper. But hke John Ruskin in
England, who was, in those middle years of last
century, going through much the same moral ex-
perience, and being driven thereby to question the
whole tenure of art, he was not satisfied either with
what advantage birth and opportunity had given
him, or with the selfish philosophy he found current.
And then, like the king in the parable, he wished to
put and to answer the three Essential Questions of the
Hour, the Man and the Deed ; in other words, the
right time to do or to begin to do; the right man to
teach how to do it; and the right thing to be done ?
But as it was a Hermit in a wood who resolved these
three questions for the King, so Tolstoi was driven
in working out his destiny to become his own Hermit
in a wood.

In his Confessions, written at a later time,
he arraigned himself as he was in those St
Petersburgh days; himself a typical but sensitive
product of the circle of habit and pleasure in which
its good society revolved. He left the capital, and

viii Introduction

retired to his country estate, and set about bettering-
the old conditions as he best could, and doing what
he could to anticipate the hour of the emancipation
of the serfs. In the following year he married, and
took up with kindhng ideas and profound intelligence
the patriarchal life that fell to the lot of such a landed
proprietor, a Mujik surviving 1861 and the Freedom
of the Serf. This indeed was the second event, the
Crimean War being the first, which served to give
to Count Tolstoi his new deliverance. It gave him
a hope for Russia and for the state of mortal man
everywhere, which acted powerfully on his imagina-
tion and his noble ideal. Living at Yasnaya Polyana,
near Toula, he gave himself resolutely and with
absolute conscience to the work that awaited him as
a landowner, and a working farmer and agriculturist.
Children were born to him (thirteen in all, of whom
eight survived infancy). He had a large ring about
him of family and blood relations. Human ex-
perience touched him as it only can touch a man who
is daily and hourly responsible for the whole welfare
of a little community of people, and who has the
sympathetic nerves in his nature alert and always
vibrating. His practical faith may be inferred from
the tales and fables which follow and which are in-
deed the natural secretion of that life of his, carried
out to its moral ultimate.

Men had gone on in the same old way for a long
time, he said (this was when he had passed forty years
and more in the wilderness as a complex hermit), before
Ihey learnt that all men might be made happy.
" Even now only a few have really begun to divine
that work ought not to be a byword or a slavery, but
should be a thing common to all and so ordered
as to bring all happily together in peace and unity.'*'

Introduction ix

It sounds very like some of John Ruskin's sayings,
does it not?

The lightening of the Atlas burden of labour, the
Tight and the human need of happiness, and the
alleviation of the trouble of life and the bitterness of
death by the faith in God — these are the cardinal
articles of Tolstoi's creed. In trying to give a new
and proverbial expression of them in essential forms
of art which all could understand, he gave up the
secondary complicate modes of fiction in which he
had shown himself a master, and took the primary
modes instead. He returned for his model to the
folk tale and the fable. The result is that he has
added some new words to the spiritual vocabulary
of man, and added some new fables to the world's
stock. Such are those in the pages that follow, tales
told poignantly and with the force of simple and
universal utterances spoken from the heart and with
the whole heart and mind, so as to sink at once into
the memory of a child, or to touch the very springs
of thought in men and women. Some of Tolstoi's
critics have regretted that he gave up being a novelist.
But he did so in order to become a new fabulist and
maker of parable, and as the true fabulists are few,
<:omparatively, surely ours is the gain?

English Translations of Tolstoy's Works : —

Coliecied W^<??-/Jj— Edited by V. Tcherthoff, London, 1898, &c. ;
translated by Constance Garnett, London, 1901, &c., and edited by
A. Maude, London, 1901, &c. ; edited by Leo Wiener, 24 vols.,
London and Boston, 1904- 1905.

The following are the principal Separate Works. The dates
following the titles are those of first publication in Russian : where
no translation is given they will be found in the last-mentioned of
the collected works and, in most cases, in the other collections : —
Childhood and Youth (1852); trans, by M. von Mysenbug, London,
1862; by \. F. Hapgood, New York, 1886; by Constantine Popoff
London, 1890; Morning of a Landed Proprietor (1852); translated

X Introduction

by N. H. Dole, New York and London, 1887. The Invaders
(1852). The Cossacks (1852) ; translated by E. Schuyler, London
and New York, 1878 ; London, 1887 ; translated by N. H. Dole,
London, 1888. Boyhood (1854), translations as Childhood above.
The Cutting of the Forest (1S54-1S55). Sevastopol (1854-1856);
translated by F. D. Millet, New York, 1887; translated by Isabel
F. Hopgood, London, 1889. Youth (1S55-1857), translations as
Childhood above. Meeting a Moscow Acquaintance at the Front
(1856). The Snow-Storm (1856). Memoirs of a Marker (1S56):
translated by N. H. Dole, New York and London, 1887. Two
Huzzars (1856) ; translated by N. H. Dole, New York and
London, 1887. Albert (1857); translated by N. H. Dole, New
York and London, 1887. Lucerne (1S57); translated by N. H.
Dole. New York and London, 1887. Three Deaths (1859);
translated by N. H. Dole, New York and London, 1887. Domestic
Happiness (1859). Polikushka (i860). Linen Measurer (History
of a Horse), 1861. Pedagogical Articles from Vasnaja Polyana
(1862). The School at Yasnaya Polj'ana (1S62). The Decembrists
(1863-1878). War and Peace (1S64- 1869) ; London, 1886; trans-
lated by N. H. Dole, New York and London, 1889. Fables for
Children (1869-1872). Stories for Children (1869-1S72). Natural
Science Stories (1S69-1872). Anna Karenin (1873-1876) ; London,
1884 ; translated by N. H. Dole, New York, 1SS6 ; London, 1S89.
On Popular Education (1875). My Confession (i 879-1 S82) ; trans-
lated as Christ's Christianity, London, 1885 ; London, 1889.
What Men Live by (1881) ; London, 1S97. Critique of Dogmatic
Theology (1881-1882). The Four Gospels Harmonized and Trans-
lated (1881-1882) ; as The Gospel in Brief, New York and London,
1896. My Religion (1884) ; translated as What I Believe, by C.
Popoff, London, 1885 ; translated by H. Smith, New York, 1885 ;
London, 1889; London, 1909. The Death of Ivan Ilich {1884-
1886); translated, with other stories, by N. H. Dole, New York,
1S87 ; and London, 1889; translated by H. Bergen, London, 1905.
The Three Hermits (1884). Neglect the Fire and You cannot Put
It Out (1885); with The Two' Pilgrims, London, 1897. The
Candle (1885). The Two Old Men (18S5). Where Love is there
God is also (1885) ; London, 1897 ; Texts for Chap-book Illustra-
tions (1885). Ivan, the Fool (1885); translated with three other
parables, London, 1895 ; London, 1896. Thoughts on God (1885-
iqoo). On the Meaning of Life (i88=;-i90o). What Shall We Do
There? (1886). Popular Legends (1886). The Power of Darkness
fi886); as The Dominion of Darkness, London, 1888. The First
Distiller ri886). On Life (1888) ; translated by T- F. Hopgood,
New York, 1888; Do., London, i88q. The Fruits of Enlighten-
ment (1S89); translated by E. J. Dillon, London, 1890, with
Introduction by A. W. Pinero, London, 1S91 ; translated as The
Fruits of Culture, by G. Schunn. Boston, 1891. The Kreutzer
Sonata (1889); translated by B. R. Tucker, Boston, 1890 ; London,
1890 ; translated by W. M. Thomson, London, 1896. Epilogue to
Kreutzer Sonata (1890). The Relation between the Sexes (1890).

Introduction xi

Walk in the Light while Ye have Light (1890) ; translated by E. J,
Dillon, London, 1890. Why People become Intoxicated (1890);
translated by MSS., London, I S92. Three Sons (1892). Labourer
Emelyan and the Empty Drum (1892). The First Step (1892).
The Kingdom of God is within You (1893). Religion and Morality
(1894). Master and Workman (1895); translated by S. Rapapert,
and J. C. Kenworthy, London, 1S95 ; by A. H. Beauman, London,
1895 ; with Introduction by W, D. Howells, New York, 1895 !
by H. Bergen, London, 1903. What is Art (1897) ; translated
by A. Maude, London, 1892. The Christian Teaching (1897).
Resurrection (1899). Patriotism and Christianity (1894) ; translated
with Note by J. C. Kenworthy, London, 1896.

LIFE, Etc.

A Pilgrimage to Tolstoy, by J. C. Kenworthy, 1896 ; Leo
Tolstoy, the Grand Mujik, by G. H. Perris, 1898; Tolstoy, his
Life and Works, by J. C. Kenworthy, 1902 ; Leo Tolstoy, a
Biographical and Critical Study, by T. S. Knowlson, 1904 ; The
Life of Tolstoy, First Fifty Years, by Aylmer Maude, 1908 ;
Tolstoy, his Life, Works and Doctrine, by A. S. Rapapert, 1908 j
Tolstoy, the Man and his Message, by E. A. Steiner, 1909.

CONTENTS

FAGB

Introduction ...... vii

Master and Man .... . i

How MUCH Land does a Man require . . 65

That whereby Mkn live . . . .84

Elias . . . . . . .112

Children may be Wiser than their Elders . 118

Labour, Death, and Disease . . . .121

The Grain that was like an Egg . . .124

Where Love is, there God is also . . .128

The Two Old Men . . . . -144

The Three Old Men . . . . .172

God sees the Right, though He be slow to De-
clare It . . . . . . iSi

How the Little Devil atoned for the Crust of

Bread ....... 192

The Penitent Sinner . . . . . i97

The Snow-Storm ...... 200

The Raid ....... 236

The Candle : or, how the Good Peasant overcame

the Cruel Overseer .... 266

The Godson . . . • . . 277

Crcesus and Solon ..... 299

"Neglect a Fire, and 'twill not be Quenched 302

MASTER AND MAN

It was in the seventies, the day after the feast of Saint
Nicholas in the winter. There had been a festival in
the parish, and the church sexton, Vassili Andreitch
Brekhunoff, (who was also a merchant of the second
guild), had been forced to remain at home, since not
only was his presence necessary at the church, but he
had been receiving and entertaining some of his friends
and relations. Now, however, the last of his guests
had departed, and he was able to get himself ready to
visit a neighbouring landowner, for the purpose of
buying some timber for which he had long been in
treaty. He was in a hurry to be off, lest rival buyers
from the town should deprive him of this eligible
bargain. The only reason wh3^ the young landowner
had asked ten thousand roubles for the timber was
that Vassili Andreitch had offered him seven — and
seven represented about a third of its value. Perhaps
Vassih might have gone on haggling still further (for
the wood was in his own district, and there was a
recognized agreement between the local merchants
and himself that one merchant should not bid against
another in the same district), were it not that he had
heard that the Government forest contractors were
also thinking of coming to treat for the Goviatchkinsky
timber, and therefore he had better make up his mind
to go at once and clinch the matter. So, as soon as
ever the festival was over, he took seven hundred
roubles of his own out of the strong-box, added to
them two thousand three hundred more out of the
church funds which he had by him (making three
thousand in all) , and counted them carefully. Then he
placed them in his pocket-book and got ready to go.

Nikita — the only one of Vassili's workmen who was
not drunk that day — ran to put the horse in. Nikita

B I

2 Master and Man

was not drunk that day for the reason that he had
formerly been a toper, but, after pawning his jacket
and leather boots for drink during the flesh-eating
days, had suddenly foresworn liquor altogether, and
drunk nothing during the second month. Even on
the present occasion he had kept his vow, in spite of
the temptation of the liquor which had flowed in all
directions during the first two days of the festival.

He was a muzhik of about fifty, and hailed from a
neighbouring village — where, however, it was said
that he was not a householder, but had lived most of
his life among strangers. Everywhere he was valued
for his handiness, industry and strength, as well as,
still more, for his kindly, cheerful disposition. Yet
he had never remained long in any one place, since
twice a year, or more, he had been accustomed to get
dnmk, and at those times would not only pawn every-
thing he possessed, but grow uproarious and quarrel-
some as well. Vassili himself had dismissed him more
than once, yet had always taken him on again because
of the store which he set by his honesty, care for
animals, and (most important of all) cheapness. In
fact, Vassili allowed Nikita a wage, not of eighty
roubles a year — the true market value of such a
workman — but of forty only. Moreover, this wage
was doled out irregularly and in driblets, as well as, for
the most part, not in cash at all, but in the form of goods
purchased at a high price from Vassili's own store.

Nikita's wife, Martha — a rugged dame who had once
been good-looking — lived at home with their little
lad and two girls, but never invited her husband to
come and see her; since, in the first place, she had lived
for the last twenty years with a cooper (originally a
muzhik from a distant village who had come to lodge
in the hut), and, in the second, because, although
she could do what she hked with her husband
when he was sober, she dreaded him like fire when
he was drunk. Once, for instance, when drunk at
home he had seized the occasion to avenge himself
upon his wife for all his submissiveness to her when

Master and Man 3

sober by breaking into her private box, possessing
himself of her best clothes, laying all the gowns and
other gewgaws upon the wood-block, and chop-
ping them into shreds with an axe. Yet all his
earnings were handed over to Martha. Never once
had he disputed this arrangement. In fact, only a
couple of days before the festival she had driven over
to Vassili's store, and been supplied by him with white
meal, tea, sugar, and a pint of vodka, to the value of
three roubles, as well as with five roubles in cash — for
all of which she had thanked Vassili as for a particular
favour, although, as a matter of fact, Vassih was in
Nikita's debt to the extent of at least twenty roubles.

" What agreement need you and I make together? "
Vassili had said to Nikita. " Take what you need as
you earn it. I don't do business as other folks do —
keep my creditors waiting, and go in for detailed
accounts and deductions and so on. You and I can
trust one another. Only serve me well, and I shall
never fail you."

In saying this, Vassili really had believed that he was
being good to Nikita, for he could speak so persuasively
and had always been so entirely supported in his de-
cisions by his dependents, from Nikita upwards, that
even he himself had come to feel comfortably per-
suaded that he was not cheating them, but actually
benefiting them.

" Yes, yes, I understand you, Vassili Andreitch,"
Nikita had replied. " I understand you perfectly
well, and will serve and work for you as for my own
father."

Nevertheless Nikita had not been ignorant that
Vassili was cheating him. He had only felt that it
would be no use his trying to get a detailed account
out of his master, and that, in default of another
place to go to, he had better grin and bear it and take
what he could get.

So, when ordered to harness the horse, Nikita pro-
ceeded to the stable in his usual cheerful, good-natured
manner, and with the usual easy stride of his rather

4 Master and Man

waddling legs. There he took down from a peg
the heavy headstall, with its straps and tassels, and,
rattling the bit against the side-pieces, proceeded
to the stall where the horse was standing which he
was to get ready.

" Oh ho, so you find time long, do 3'ou, my little
beauty? " he said in reply to the low whinny of
welcome which greeted him from the shapely, middle-
sized, low-rumped, dark-brown stallion cob which
was the sole occupant of the loose-box.

" Nay, nay," he went on. " You are in a hurry to
be off, I daresay, but I must water you first," (he
always spoke to the animal as one might speak to a
being capable of understanding human speech).
Then, having wiped the sleek, though dusty and
harness-galled, back of the cob with a cloth, he ad-
justed the headstall to the handsome young head,
pulled the ears and forehead-tuft through, let down
the halter, and led the animal out to drink. As soon
as Brownie had picked his ^\'ay gingerly out of the
dung-heaped stall he grew lively and threw up his
heels, pretending that he wanted to kick Nikita as the
latter trotted beside him to the water-trough.

"Quiet then, quiet then, you little rascal!" ex-
claimed Nikita, though well aware that Brownie was
taking good care to throw out his hind leg in such a
manner as only to graze Nikita's greasy fur coat, not
strike it direct — a trick which Nikita always admired.
Having drunk his fill of cold water, the animal snorted
as he stood twitching his strong, wet lips, from the
hairs of which the bright, transparent drops kept
dripping back into the trough. Then he stood
motionless for an instant or two, as though engaged
in thought, and then suddenly gave a loud neigh.

" You don't want any more. You wouldn't get it
even if you did, so you needn't ask for it," said
Nikita, explaining his conduct to Brownie with ab-
solute gravity and precision. Then he set off running
back to the stable, holding tlie spirited young cob by
the halter as the animal kicked and snorted all across

Master and Man 5

the yard. None of the other workmen were about —
only the cook's husband, who had come over for the
festival from another village.

" Go in, will 3'-ou, my boy," said Nikita to this
man, " and ask which sledge 1 am to get ready — the
big one or the httle one? "

The man disappeared into the house (which was
iron-roofed and stood upon a raised foundation), and
returned in a moment with a message that it was the
little sledge which was to be used. Meanwhile Nikita
had slipped the collar over the cob's head and ad-
justed the brass-studded saddle-piece, and was now
walking, with the light-painted dotsga^ in one hand
and the end of the cob's halter in the other, towards
the two sledges standing beneath the shed.

" If the little sledge, then the little sledge," he re-
marked, and proceeded to back the clever little animal
into the shafts (it pretending meanwhile to bite him)
and, with the other man's assistance, to harness it to
the vehicle. When all was ready and there remained
only the reins to be put on, Nikita sent his assistant
to the stable for some straw, and then to the store-
house for a sack.

" There now, that will do," said Nikita as he stuffed
into the sledge the freshly-cut oaten straw which the
man had brought. " But nay, nay " (to Brownie).
" You need not prick j^our ears like that! — Well,
suppose we put the straw so, and the sack on the top
of it. Then it will be comfortable to sit upon," — and
he suited the action to the words by tucking the
edges of the sack under the straw disposed around the
seat.

" Thank you, my boy," he added to the cook's
husband. " Two pairs of hands work quicker than
one." After that he buckled the loose ends of the
reins together, mounted the splashboard, and drove
the good little steed, all impatient to be off, across
the frozen dung of the yard to the entrance-gates.

^ The curved frame, fitted with bells, which surmounts the collar
in Russian harness.

6 Master and Man

" Uncle Mikit, Uncle Mikit ! " came the shrill little
voice of a seven-3'ear-old boy from behind him, as the
youngster ran hastily out of the porch into the yard —
a youngster who was dressed in a short jacket of black
fur, new white bast shoes, and a cosy cap. " Let f)ie
get up too," he implored, fastening his jacket as he
ran.

" Well, well! Come here then, my dear," said
Nikita, pulling up. Then, seating his master's pale,
thin little son behind him, he drove the boy, beaming
with pleasure, out into the street.

It was now three o'clock in the afternoon and
freezing hard, the thermometer registering only ten
degrees ; yet the weather was dull and gusty, and fully
half the sky was covered by a low, dark bank of cloud.
In the courtyard the air was still, but directly one
stepped into the street outside the wind became more
noticeable and the snow could be seen twirling itself
about in wreaths as it was swept from the roof of a
neighbouring outbuilding into the corner near the
bath-house. Hardly had Nikita returned through the
gates and turned the cob's head towards the steps
when Vassili Andreitch — a cigarette between his lips,
and a sheepskin coat upon his shoulders, fastened
tightly and low down with a belt — came out of the
house-door upon the high, snow-trampled flight of
steps, making them creak loudly under his felt boots
as he did so.

Drawing the last whiff from his cigarette, he threw
down the fag end and stamped it oui. Then, puffing
the smoke out of his moustache, he glanced at the cob
as it re-entered the gates, and began to turn out the
corners of his coat-collar in such a way that the fur
should be next his face on either side (his face was
clean-shaven, except for a moustache), and yet not
liable to be fouled with his breath.

" So you have managed it, you little monkey? " he
exclaimed as he caught sight of his little boy seated
in the sledge. Vassili was a little animated with the
wine which he had been drinking with his guests,

Master and Man 7

and therefore the more ready to approve of all that
belonged to him and all that he had done in life.
The aspect of his little son at that moment — of the
little boy whom he intended to be his heir — afforded
him the greatest satisfaction as he stood bhnking at
him and grinning with his long teeth. In the porch
behind Vassili stood his pale, thin wife, Vassilia
Andreitcha. She was enceinte, and had her head
and shoulders muffled up in a woollen shawl, so that
only her eyes were visible.

" Had not you better take Nikita with you? " she
said, stepping timidly forward from the porch.
Vassili returned her no answer, but merely frowned
angrily as though somehow displeased at her words,
and spat upon the ground.

" You see, you will be travelling with money on
you," she continued in the same anxious tone. " Be-
sides, the weather might grow worse."

" Don't I know the road, then, that I must needs
have a guide with me? " burst out Vassili with that
unnatural stiffening of his lips which marked his inter-
course with buyers and sellers when he was particularly
desirous of enunciating each syllable distinctly.

" Yes, do take him, for heaven's sake, I implore
you," repeated his wife as she shifted her shawl to
protect the other side of her face.

" Goodness! Why, you stick to me like a bathing-
towel! " cried Vassili. " Where can I find room for
him on the sledge? "

" I am quite ready to go," put in Nikita, cheerfully.
" Only, someone else must feed the other horses while
I am away," (this last to his mistress).

" Yes, yes, I will see to that, Nikita," she replied.
" I will tell Simon to do it."

" Then I am to go with you, Vassili Andreitch? "
said Nikita, expectantly.

" Well, I suppose I must humour the good lady,"
answered Vassih. " Only, if you go, you had better
put on a rather better, not to say warmer, diplo-
matist's uniform than that," — and he smiled and

8 Master and Man

winked one eye at Nikita's fur jacket, which, truth to
tell, had holes under its two arms, down the back,
and round the sides, besides being greasy, matted,
shorn of hooks, and torn into strips round the edges.

" Here, my good fellow! Come and hold the cob,
will 3'ou? " shouted Nikita across the yard to the
cook's husband.

" No, no, let me do it," cried the little boy, drawing
his small, red, frozen hands out of his pockets and
catching hold of the chilly reins.

" Don't be too long over your new uniform, please,"
said VassiH to Nikita with a grin.

" No, no, Vassih Andreitch — I shan't be a moment,"
protested Nikita as he went shufiQing hurriedly off
in his old felt boots towards the servants' quarters
across the yard.

" Now then, my good Arininshka, give me my
khalat^ from the stove! I am going with master!"
shouted Nikita as he burst into the hut and seized his
belt from a peg. The cook, who had been enjojdng a
good sleep after dinner and was now getting tea ready
for her husband, greeted Nikita cheerfully, and,
catching the infection of his haste, began to bustle
about as briskly as he himself. First she took from
near the stove a shabby, but well-aired, cloth
khalat, and set about shaking and smoothing it out
with all possible speed.

" Yon are far more fit to go with the master than
I am," he said to the cook, in accordance with his
usual habit of saying something civil to everyone
with whom he came in contact. Then, twisting
about him the shabby, well-worn belt, he succeeded
first in compressing his not over-prominent stomach,
and then in drawing the belt with a great effort over
his fur coat.

" There you are! " he said (not to the cook but to

the belt) as he tucked its ends in. " You can't very

well burst apart like that." Then, with a hoist and

much heaving of the shoulders, he drew the cloth

' A kind of frock-coat-

Master and Man 9

khalat over all (stretching its back well, to give loose-
ness in the arms), and patted it into place under the
arm-pits. Finally he took his mittens from a shelf.

" Now," said he, " I am all right."

" But you have forgotten about your feet," cried
the cook. " Those boots are awful."

Nikita stopped as if struck by this.

" Yes, perhaps I ought to ch — " he began, but
changed his mind, and exclaiming, " No, he might go
without me if I did — I have not far to walk," bolted
off into the yard.

" But won't 5^ou be cold in that khalat only, Nikita? "
said his mistress when he reached the sledge.

" No indeed! How should I? It is very warm,"
answered Nikita as he disposed the straw over the
forepart of the sledge in such a manner as would con-
ceal his feet after he had mounted, and thrust the whip
(not needed for so willing a steed) under the straw.

Vassili had already taken his seat, his broad back,
with its double covering of furs, filling almost the
entire rear part of the sledge. Then, taking up the
reins, he fhcked the cob with them, while Nikita
jumped into the forepart of the sledge just as it started,
and sat leaning forward to the left and sticking out
one leg.

II

The gooc little cob moved the sledge rapidly along
with a light creaking of the runners as he trotted at
a round pace over the well- beaten, frozen piece of road
leading to the village.

" Hullo! What have you jumped up for? " cried
Vassili, suddenly, clearly enjoying the fact that an
unauthorized passenger was trying to perch himself
upon the runners behind. (" Give me the whip,
Nikita! " he interjected). " Fll thrash you, you
young rascal! Run along home to your mother! "

The boy jumped off. Brownie broke into a gallop,
but soon changed to a trot again.

lo Master and Man

Kresti, where Vassili lived, was a hamlet of six
houses only, and when they had got be^-ond the black-
smith's hut at the end they at once perceived that
the wind was much stronger than they had thought
it to be, and that the road ahead was almost invisible.
The track of the sledge became snowed over almost
as fast as made, and only the fact that the road was
a little higher than the ground on either side of it
rendered it at all distinguishable. The snow was
whirling over the whole country-side and blotting out
the horizon, while the Teliatinsky forest — generally
clearly visible — now showed only as a dark mass
looming at intervals through the snow-dust. The
wind was blowing from the left, and kept turning
Brownie's mane over his thick, fat neck and blowing
his feathery tail, — bound at the top in a plain knot, —
across his flank. Owing to the wind, too, Nikita's
tall coat-collar, where he sat on the weather side of
the sledge, kept pressing itself tightly against his
cheeks and nose.

" The cob can't get up much of a pace to-day;
there's too much snow on the ground," said Vassili,
who prided himself on the excellence of his steed.
" Once I drove him to Pashutino in half an hour."

" What did you say? " asked Nikita, whose tall
coat-collar had prevented him from hearing what was
said.

" I said that I have driven to Pashutino in half an
hour," bawled Vassili.

" That's something to boast of indeed! He's a
good animal if ever there was one! " commented
Nikita, after which they kept silence for a while.
Vassili, however, was inclined to be talkative.

" What do you think? I told your wife the other
day not to let her cooper drink all the tea," he
bawled once more, in the firm conviction that Nikita
must be feeling flattered at being talked to by such an
important and highly-educated man as himself, as well
as so greatly taken with his own joke about the cooper
that it never entered into his head that the topic

Master and Man 1 1

might be distasteful to Nikita. However, the latter
had once more failed to catch his master's words for
the violence of the wind, so Vassili repeated his
pleasantry at the very top of his " educated " voice.

" God be with her, Vassili Andreitch! " returned
Nikita when he understood. " I never interfere with
their affairs. She has given me little cause for blame,
and, so long as she treats the lad well, I merely say,
' God be with her! ' "

" Well, well," said Vassili, and changed the subject.
" Are you going to buy a horse in the spring? " he
continued.

" I only wish I could," replied Nikita as he turned
his coat-collar back a little and leant over towards his
master. The new topic interested him, and he wanted
to catch every word. " My little lad is fast growing
up and ought to learn to plough, but I have squandered
all my money."

" Well, if you'll take the low-rumped nag off my
hands I won't ask you much for it," said Vassili,
whose spirits were rising, and who therefore recurred
instinctively to his ruling passion — the passion which
absorbed liis whole faculties — namely, the pursuit
of bargains.

" I would rather you lent me fifteen roubles and let
me go and buy one in the horse-market," answered
Nikita, knowing fuU well that the low-rumped nag
which Vassili was asking him to buy was worth no more
than seven roubles at the outside, but that as soon as
ever Vassili had handed him over the animal he v/ould
swear that it was worth at least twenty-five, and
therefore retain about half a year's wages to cover the
amount.

" The horse is a splendid one," went on VassiU in
his precise, businesslike tones. " I want to do you a
service as well as myself. Honestly, now. Brek-
hunoff would never do any man a bad turn. I would
rather be out of pocket myself than see others so.
Yes, on my honour. The horse is a magnificent
one."

12 Master and Man

" I am sure of it," said Nikita with a sigh.
Then, finding it useless to try and hsten further, he
turned up his coat-collar again, and his face and ear
became covered in a twinkling. For about half an
hour they drove in silence. The wind kept getting
down Nikita's legs and through a hole in his mitten,
but he hunched his shoulders and breathed into the
coat-collar muffled over his mouth, so that he did not
feel the cold very much after all.

" What do you think? Shall we go round by Kara-
mishevo or straight on? " asked Vassili presently.
The road by way of Karamishevo was the longer
and the rougher one, yet, on the other hand, it was
clearly defined by posts on either side. The road
straight on was a good deal nearer, but used by few
travellers, as well as either altogether devoid of posts
or marked only by small ones which would now be
almost drifted over. Nikita debated matters for a
moment.

" The road by Karamishevo is longer than the other
one, but a good deal the easier to drive over," he
decided at length.

" Yet, if we go straight on," pursued Vassili, who
was inclined towards the route he named, " we have
only to get into the hollow, and then we can't possibly
lose our way. It will be splendid going through the
forest."

" As you wish," said Nikita, and turned up his coat-
collar again.

Accordingly Vassili had his way, and after driving
about half a verst ' further on, turned to the left where
a tall 3'oung oak tree stood. Its branches and the
few dead leaves which still clung to them were
being madly dashed about by the wind, which,
after the turning, met the travellers almost full in
the face. Light snow began to fall, and Vassili
tightened the reins, puffed out his cheeks, and let
the breath escape slowly from under his moustache,
while Nikita dozed. They had driven like this in

^ Tlie verst = about two-thirds of an English mile.

Master and Man 13

silence for about ten minutes when Vassili gave an
exclamation.

" What is it? " asked Nikita, opening his eyes.

Vassili returned no answer, but twisted himself
round to look back. Then he gazed ahead. The
cob was still trotting along, his flanks steaming with
sweat.

" What is it? " asked Nikita again.

" What is it, do you say? " cried Vassili in angry
mimicry of the question. " Why, only that I can't
see any posts now. We must be off the road."

" Wait a minute, then, while I go and look for it,"
said Nikita as he leapt lightly from the sledge and,
taking the whip from beneath the straw, went ahead
and towards the left — the side on which he had been
sitting. The snow had not been very deep that year,
so that, as yet, the road had been easily passable the
whole way along ; but here there were patches where it
reached knee-high and smothered Nikita's boot-tops.
He kept on trying the ground, both with his feet
and the whip, as he walked along; yet the road had
vanished.

" Well? " said Vassili when Nikita returned to the
sledge.

" No road on this side," answered Nikita. " I
must try the other."

" There seems to be something dark showing ahead,"
remarked Vassili. " Go and see what it is."

Nikita did so, and found it to be only a spot where
the naked sprouts of some winter corn sown on
a piece of black earth were making a dark patch
on the snow as they waved before the wind. Nikita
circled round to the right, and then returned to tlie
sledge again, beat the snow from his khalat and boots,
and remounted.

" We must go to the right," he said with decision.
" The wind was on our left a moment ago, but now
it is straight in our faces. Yes, to the right," he
concluded with an air of conviction.

Vassili just managed to catch what he said, and

14 Master and Man

turned the cob in the direction indicated; yet no
road revealed itself there, although they went on for
a considerable time. Meanwhile the wind showed no
signs of dropping, and the snow continued.

" Well, we are altogether lost now, Vassili
Andreitch," obser\7ed Nikita, suddenly, and half as
though he were pleased at the fact. " What is this,
though? " he went on, pointing to a blackened potato-
top which was projecting above the snow. Vassili
at once stopped the cob, which was now sweating
heavily and moving its stout flanks with dif^culty.

" Yes, what is it? " he echoed.

" It means that we are on the Zakharovek estate.
That is where we have got to."

" Surely not? " exclaimed Vassili.

" Yes, it is as I say," insisted Nikita. " You can
tell, too, by the sound of the sledge-runners that we
are driving over a potato-field. Look at the bits of
potato-tops which they have dragged off. Yes, these
are the Zakharovek market-gardens."

"A fine place to get landed in!" said Vassili.
" Well, what is to be done now? "

" We must keep on going to the right, and we shall
be sure to come out somewhere or other," answered
Nikita. " If we don't actually strike Zakharovek we
shall at all events come across some tenant's farm."

Vassili assented, and drove the cob forward in the
direction Nikita had advised. They proceeded thus
for a considerable time, now coming upon bare grass,
now upon rough patches of frozen ground, over which
the sledge went grating loudly. Then, again, they
would find themselves passing over stubble o£ winter
or spring corn, with the dead straw or sticks of weeds
projecting above the snow and waving madly before
the w^ind. More than once they found themselves
labouring through deep, level, pure-white drifts, with
nothing whatever showing above the top. All the
while the snow-fall continued and the snow-dust
whirled about the ground. The cob was evidently
failing now, for his flanks were white and steaming

Master and Man 15

with sweat, and he proceeded only at a foot's pace.
Suddenly he stumbled, and then plunged forward
into some ditch or gully. Vassili was for pulling up,
but Nikita shouted to him:

" Why stop? Go on, go on! We must get him
out of this. Now then, my beauty! Now then, my
pet! " he went on to the cob encouragingly as he
leapt from the sledge — only to stick fast in the ditch
himself. However, the cob extricated himself
presently, and scrambled back onto the frozen ridge
which lined the bank. Evidently it was a ditch dug
out by hand.

" Where are we now? " queried Vassili.

" We must find that out," answered Nikita. " Let
us push on a bit, and we shall arrive somewhere."

" Isn't that the Goviatchkinsky forest, surely? "
said his master presentl5^ pointing to something
black looming through the snow ahead.

" It may be. We had better push on and find out,"
rejoined Nikita. As a matter of fact, he had already
distinguished the oblong patches of some withered
vine-leaves showing against the blackness of the
object in question, and knew, therefore, that it was
more likely to be a habitation of some kind than a
forest; yet he hesitated to speak before he knew for
certain. Sure enough, they had not proceeded more
than twenty yards beyond the ditch when trees
showed up clearly before them and some melancholy
sound became audible. Nikita had guessed rightly.
It was not a forest they had come to, but a row of
tall vines, v/ith a few withered leaves still quivering
upon them. Evidently they marked the trench of
a threshing-floor. Just as the travellers had almost
reached these vines and could tell that the melan-
choly sound arose from the wind sweeping through
their rustling leaves, the cob took a sudden plunge
upwards with his fore hoofs, pulled up his hind-
quarters after them, turned to the left, and went on
with the snow no longer reaching to his knees. It
was the road again !

1 6 Master and Man

"Now we have reached it!" exclaimed Nikita,
" but the Lord only knows where! "

The cob, however, never faltered, but went straight
ahead along the snow-swept road; until, just as they
had covered about a hundred yards, there uprose
before them the rectangular outlines of a wattled
barn, with its roof piled with snow and the snow-
dust blowing from it in clouds. Passing the barn,
the road wound back into the wind a Uttle, and they
found themselves in a snowdrift. A short way further
on could be seen an opening between two buildings,
so that it was clear that the road lay through the
snowdrift, and that the latter must be surmounted.
Sure enough, they had no sooner accomplished this
than they found themselves in a village street, in the
nearest courtyard of which some frozen linen was
hanging from a line and rustling distractedly in the
wind. It comprised two shirts (one of them white
and the other one red), a pair of drawers, some leg-
gings, and a petticoat, of which the white shirt was
particularly abandoned in its antics as it waved its
sleeves before the wind.

" Ugh, the lazy woman — though I am sorry to have
to say it of her! " said Nikita with a glance at the
waving shirts. " To think of not getting one's linen
ready for the festival! "

III

The wind was as strong at the entrance to the street
as it had been in the open country, and the roadway
piled with snow, but in the middle of the hamlet
everything seemed warm and quiet and cheerful.
A dog came barking out of a yard, while in another
yard an old woman came running from somewhere,
with her head swathed in a handkerchief, but stopped
as she was making for the door of the hut and stood
for a moment on the threshold to gaze at the new
arrivals. From the middle of the village came the

Master and Man 17

sound of girls singing, and altogether there seemed
to be less wind and cold and snow here than out-
side.

" Why, this must be Grishkino," said Vassih.

" It is," replied Nikita: and Grishkino it was.

It turned out afterwards that they had left the road
upon their right, and travelled some eight versts at
a tangent to their former direction — though still
more or less in the direction of their proper goal.
Yet Goviatchkina was fully five versts from Grish-
kino.

Halfway up the street they encountered a tall man
walking in the centre of the roadway.

" Who are you? " he cried as he stopped. Then,
recognizing Vassili, he caught hold of one of the
shafts, rested his hands upon it, and climbed to
the seat of the sledge. It was a friend of Vassili's
named Isai, known as the worst horse-thief in the
district.

" Well, and whither is God taking you now? "
said Isai, suffusing Nikita with the smell of the vodka
which he had been drinking.

" We have been trying to get to Goviatchkina."

" What a way to take, then! You should have
gone by Malakhovo."

" It's no good saying what we should have done
when we didn't do it," retorted Vassili as he pulled up
the cob.

" That is a good animal," remarked Isai, looking
the cob over, and passing his hand under the now
drooping stump of its stout, knotted tail in his usual
horsey manner. " Are you going to stay the night
here? "

" No, my friend. We have further to go yet."

" You had much better stay. But who is this?
Why, if it isn't Nikita Stepanitch! "

" Yes, no one else," replied Nikita. " But pray
tell us, brother, how to avoid losing our way again."

" How to avoid losing your way again? Why,
turn back, go right along the street, and the road is
c

i8 Master and Man

straight in front of you. Don't turn to the left,
but keep on until you come nearly to a large village,
and then — to the right."

" But whereabouts is the turning near that village? "
asked Nikita again. " Is it on the summer or the
winter road? "

" The vv'inter. You will come to a copse there,
and exactly opposite the copse there stands a tall,
ragged oaken post. That is where j'ou are to turn
off."

Accordingly Vassili turned the cob's head round,
ajad drove off down the street again.

" You had better have stayed the night here,"
shouted Isai after them, but Vassili shook up the
cob and returned no answer. To cover five versts
of level road, of which two would run through forest,
seemed an easy enough prospect, especially in view
of the fact that the snow now seemed to them to have
ceased and the wind to have dropped.

Passing from the street again, \\'ith its roadway
trampled hard and showing black here and there
with patches of fresh dung, they drove past the yard
where the linen was hanging out to dry (the white
shirt had now partly torn away from the line and was
dangling by one frozen sleeve only), and went on until
they came to the vine-stocks with their quaintly
murmuring leaves. Here they were in the open
country again — only to discover that the blizzard
had in no way abated, but rather, on the contrary,
increased. The road was drifted over ahead, and
nothing but the posts alongside could keep them from
leaving it. These posts, too, were diflicult to dis-
tinguish, since the wind was head on.

Vassili knit his brows as he bent forward to watch
for the posts, but gave the cob more rein than before,
and trusted to its sagacity. Sure enough, the cob
never faltered, but went on turning to the left or
right, according to the windings of the road, and
feeling for it with his hoofs; so that, despite the fact
that the wind kept rising and the snow falling ever

Master and Man 19

thicker and thicker, the posts remained plainly visible
on either side.

They had been driving like this for about ten
minutes when there suddenly loomed up something
black in front of the cob — something which was
moving along in a tangled whirl of wind-driven snow.
It was a party of fellow-travellers whom Brownie
had outpaced, and the back of whose sledge he had
actually struck into with his fore-hoofs.

" Pull out! Hi! Look out in front of you! "
came in a chorus of shouts from this vehicle, and
Vassili pulled out accordingly. In the sledge were
seated three muzhiks and an old woman. Evidently
they were guests returning from the village festival.
One of the men was lashing the snow-covered flanks
of their pony with a dry branch, his two comrades
were shouting and gesticulating at one another in
the forepart of the sledge, and the old woman —
muffled up and white over with snow — was seated
motionless at the back.

" Whose men are you? " shouted Vassili.

" A-a-a-skie ! " was all that could be heard in
answer.

"Eh?"

" A-a-a-skie! " repeated one of the muzhiks at the
top of his voice, but it was impossible to distinguish
precisely what he said.

"Lay on! Don't give way to them!" shouted
another to the one belabouring the pony with the
branch.

" You are returning from the festival, I suppose? "

" They are gaining, they are gaining! Lay on,
Semka! Pull out, you! Lay on!"

The sledges kept bumping against each other,
almost interlocking, and then parting again, until
finally the muzhik's sledge began to be overhauled.
Their shaggy, fat-bellied, snow-covered pony, blowing
heavily under its low douga, and evidently frantic
(though in vain) to escape from the flagellation of
the dry branch, kept shuffling along on its stumpy

20 Master and Man

legs through the deep snow, although at times they
almost gave way beneath it. Its muzzle — that,
apparently, of a young animal, with its lower lip pro-
jecting like a fish's, the nostrils distended, and the
ears laid back in terror — kept level with Nikita's
shoulder for a few seconds, and then began to drop
behind.

" That's what drink will make men do," observed
Nikita. " The pony will be ruined by treatment like
that. What Asiatic brutes the fellows are! "

For several minutes the sobbing of the distressed
pony's nostrils could be heard behind them, as well
as the drunken shouts of the muzhiks. Then the first
sound died away, and presently the second also.
Nothing whatever was to be heard now except the
whistling of the wind in the travellers' ears and an
occasional faint scrape of the runners over patches
which the wind had swept bare.

This contest with the rival sledge had cheered and
enlivened Vassili, so that he drove the cob with greater
assurance than ever, and without watching for the
posts at all — leaving matters, in fact, to the cob
entirely. Kikita also had nothing to do, so that, as
usual with him when thus situated, he fell into a
doze, in order to make up for arrears of sleep at other
times. Suddenly the cob stopped short, almost
pitching Nikita forward out of the sledge.

" We have gone wrong again," said Vassili.

" How do you know? "

" Because there are no posts to be seen. We must
have left the road."

" Well, if we have, I must look for it again," re-
marked Nikita abruptly as he got out and began to
trudge about the snow, stepping as lightly as possible
on the balls of his splayed-out feet. He kept this up
for a long time — now disappearing from view, now
reappearing, now vanishing again — and then re-
turned.

" No road there," he remarked as he mounted the
sledge. " It must be somewhere ahead."

Master and Man 21

The dusk was now coming on, and although the
bhzzard had not increased it also had not lessened.

"If only we could hear those imizhiks ! " sighed
Vassili.

" They won't overtake us now," replied Nikita,
" for we must have left the road a long way back.
Perhaps they have done the same," he added, as an
afterthought.

" Well, which way now? " inquired Vassili. ^„

" Give the cob his head," advised Nikita, " and H.
perhaps he will take us right. Here, give me the
reins."

Vassili relinquished them none the less readily "*■
because his hands were half frozen in their warm V-
mittens. ,4;{ikita^,l0Qk the^..iems,_ but let them lie.©
quite passivelyln his fingers, endeavouring not to give \
them the slightest twitch. In fact, he took keen pleasure
in thus trying the intelligence of his favourite. Sure
enough, after pricking his ears first to the one side
and then to the other, the clever animal started to
turn round.

" He can almost speak! " cried Nikita. " My word,
how well he knows what to do! On you go, then!
On with you ! Tchk, tchk ! ' '

The wind was now at their backs again, and it
seemed warmer.

" Ah, what a knowing fellow he is! " went on Nikita,
delighted with his pet. " Kirghizenok is strong
enough, of course, but an absolute fool; whereas this
fellow — well, see what he found out with his ears
alone! No need of telegraphs for him, when he can
smell out a road a verst away! "

And, indeed, less than half an hour later a black
object — either a wood or a village — began to loom
ahead, while the posts reappeared on their right,
placing it beyond doubt that the travellers had hit
the road once more.

" If this isn't Grishkino again! " exclaimed Nikita
suddenl5\

And Grishkino it was. On their left showed the

22 Master and Man

barn with the snow-dust blowing from its roof, while
further on could be seen the clothes-line, with its
burden of shirts and drawers still fluttering in the
wind. Once again they drove up the street and found
ever3'thing grow suddenly quiet and warm and
cheerful. Once again the miry roadway appeared,
voices and singing became audible, and the dog barked
as before. The dusk, however, was now so far ad-
vanced that lights could be seen gleaming in some of
the windows.

Half-way up the street Vassili turned the cob's
head towards a large hut with a double coping of
bricks, and pulled up at the steps. Nikita approached
the gleaming, snow-encrusted window, in the light
of which the dancing snowflakes glittered brightly,
and knocked at a pane with the butt-end of his
whip.

" Who is there? " cried a voice in answer to Nikita's
summons.

" The Brekhunoffs from Kresti, brother," replied
Nikita. " Please let us in."

Someone could be heard moving away from the
window, and in another two minutes the sound of the
inner door opening with a wrench. Then the latch
of the outer door rattled, and there came out a tall
old white-bearded muzhik, holding the door half-
closed behind him to keep the wind from blowing into
the hut. He was clad in a fur coat, hastily thrown
over a white holiday shirt, while behind him stood a
young fellow in a red shirt and tall boots.

" How is it with j'ou, Andreitch? " inquired the
old man.

" We have lost our way, my friend," replied Vassili.
" We tried to get to Goviatchkina, but landed here.
Then we set off again, and have just missed the
road for the second time."

" But how came you to go wrong? " asked the old
man. " Here, Petrushka " — and he turned to the
young fellow in the red shirt — " go and open the yard-
gates."

Master and Man 23

" Certainly," responded the youngster cheerfully,
and ran forward out of the porch.

" No, no. We must not stop the night," interposed
Vassili.

" But where can you be going now? It is nearly
dark. You had much better stay here."

" I should have been only too glad to do so, but I
simply cannot. Business, you see, my friend — and
business won't wait."

" Then at least come in and warm yourselves with
some tea," said the old man.

" Yes, we might do that," replied Vassili. " The
night won't grow any darker than it is now, for the .
moon will soon be rising. Shall we go in and warm -,
ourselves, Nikita? " "s^- j

" Yes, I could do with something to warm me," f
replied Nikita, who was desperately cold, and only\^
too eager to thaw his frozen limbs before a stove.

Vassili thereupon entered the hut with the old man,
while Nikita drove the sledge through the yard-gates,
duly opened for him by Petrushka. Under the latter's
guidance he then led the cob under the roof of a
shed. The shed was heaped high with dung, so that
the cob's lofty douga caught upon a beam ; whereupon
the cock and hens which were roosting there were
moved to uneasy flutterings and scratchings of their
claws, some sheep darted away in terror, with much
pattering of their hoofs over the frozen dung, and a
dog whined loudly, then growled in angry alarm, and
finally barked at the intruder in puppy fashion.

Nikita had a word for them all. He begged the
hens' pardon, and quieted them by saying that he
would not disturb them further; chided the sheep
for their unreasoning nervousness; and never ceased
to make overtures to the dog as he tied up his steed.

" We shall be all right now," he said as he beat the
snow from his clothes. " Hush, then, how he growls! "
he added to the dog. "It is all right now. Quiet,
then, stupid! Be quiet! You are only disturbing
yourself for nothing. We are not thieves."

24 Master and Man

" They are what we might call our three domestic
councillors," remarked Petrushka as he drew the
sledge under the shed with his powerful hands.

" Why * councillors '? " asked Nikita.

" Because," said Petrushka, with a smile, " you
will find it written in Paulson's book: ' When a thief
is sneaking up to a house the dog barks out in his own
language — Wake up! the cock sings out — Get up!
and the cat starts washing herself — meaning thereby
to say: A guest is at hand, so let us be ready to
receive him! ' "

Petrushka, it seemed, was of a literary turn, and
knew by heart the only book which he possessed —
some book or other by Paulson. He was par-
ticularly fond of it when he had had a little to
drink — as now — and would quote such extracts
from it as might seem to him to fit the occasion.

" That is just right," observed Nikita.

" Yes, isn't it? " answered Petrushka. " But 3'ou
are simply frozen. Shall I take you in to tea now,
my boy? "

" Yes, by all means," replied Nikita, and they
crossed the 3'ard to the hut door.

IV

The homestead where Vassili had pulled up was one
of the richest in the village, for the family held no
less than five lots of land, as well as rented some,
while in the stables stood six horses, three cows, two
draught-bullocks, and a flock of twenty sheep. In
all, there lived around the courtyard of the home-
stead twenty-two souls — namely, four married sons,
six grandchildren (of \','hom one — Petrushka — was
married), two great-grandciiildren, three orphans, and
four daughters-in-law, with ilieir children. In addi-
tion to these there were two sons employed as water-
carriers in Moscow, while a third was in the army.
At the present mom.ent there were at home only the

Master and Man 25

old man, his wife, the second of the married sons, the
elder of the two sons who worked at Moscow (come
over for the festival), the various wives and children,
and a neighbouring gossip.

It was one of those rare households which are still
to be found undivided, yet one in which there were
already at work those deep-rooted internal dissensions
which generally originate among the women of a
family, and which would break up this family also in
time.

Over the table in the hut there hung a shaded lamp,
throwing a clear light upon the crockery below,
upon a bottle of vodka, and upon sundry viands, as well
as over the clay walls of the room. In one corner — the
" corner beautiful " — there hung some ikons, with
pictures on either side of them. In the place of honour
at the table sat Vassili, stripped now to his black
under-jacket, and chewing his frozen moustache as
he gazed round the hut and at those about him
with his prominent, hawklike eyes. Next to him sat
the bald, white-bearded head of the family (dressed
in a white shirt of home manufacture), while, further
on, were the son who had come over from Moscow for
the festival (straight-backed, square-shouldered, and
wearing a similar shirt to his father's, but of finer
material), a second square-shouldered son (the eldest
of those living at home), and, lastly, the neighbour —
a red-haired, lanky muzhik.

These mtizhiks had had their supper and vodka,
and were just about to drink tea when the travellers
arrived. Consequently, the samovar on the floor by
the stove was already boiling. Near the stove,
also, and in shelf-bunks could be seen various children,
while the old woman — her face covered in every
direction with fine wrinkles, furrowing even her lips —
bustled about behind Vassili. As Nikita entered the
hut she was just taking her guest some vodka, which
she had poured out into a tumbler of thick glass.

" You must not refuse it, Vassili Andreitch," she
said. " No, you really must not. You need some-

26 Master and Man

thing to refresh you. Drink it down, my dear
sir."

Nikita found himself greatly excited by the smell
of the vodka — especially now that he was so cold and
hungry. Ke knit his brows and, shaking the snow
from his hat and khalat, halted for a moment before
the ikons, with his eyes turned away from the com-
pany. He crossed himself three times and made a
genuflexion, after which he turned first to his host and
saluted him, then to those present at the table, and then
to the women standing by the stove. Finally, with a
general greeting of " A merry festival to 3'ou all! "
he started to take off his khalat — though still Vv'ithout
looking at the table.

" But you are frozen all over, my brother! " cried
the eldest brother as he stared at Nikita's snow-caked
eyes, beard and face. For answer, Nikita divested
himself of his khalat, shook it out, and hung it over the
stove; after which he at length approached the table.
Offered vodka, he had almost taken the glass and tilted
the fragrant, shining liquor into his mouth, when he
glanced at Vassili and remembered the pawned boots,
as well as the cooper and the young son for whom he
had promised to buy a horse in the spring. So he
ended by declining the vodka with a sigh.

" I would rather not drink it, I thank you humbly,"
he said with knitted brows, and seated himself on a
bench by the window.

" But why? " asked the eldest brother.

" Because I would rather not, I would rather not,"
Nikita replied without raising liis eyes as he squinted
down at his short beard and moustache and thawed
the icicles out of them.

" It does not suit him," put in Vassili, smacking
his lips over a cracknel washed down with vodka.

" Well, give me the tea-pot, then," said the kindly
old woman. " I will get you some tea, for you must
be frozen. Why are you so long with the samovar,
my good women? "

" It is quite ready," retorted one of the younger

Master and Man 27

ones as she wiped the covered samovar with a napkin.
Then, raising it with some difficulty, she came and
plumped it dowTi on the table.

Meanwhile, Vassili had been relating how he and
his companion had missed their way, wandered about,
fallen in with the drunken muzhiks, and twice returned
to the village. His hosts marvelled at the story, and
then went on to explain how and where they had gone
wrong, who the drunken muzhiks had been, and tlie
route which Vassili and Nikita must take when they
set off again.

" Why, even a child could find tlie way as far as
Moltchanovka," said the neighbour; " and, once
there, you only have to hit the turning near the
village. You will see a copse there. To think that
you never got so far! "

" But hadn't you better stay the night here? " put
in the old woman, persuasively. " The women shall
get you a bed ready."

" Yes, do so, for if you were to get lost again it
might be a terrible business," added lier husband.

" No, no, I really cannot, my good friend," replied
Vassili. " Business is business. Delay an hour, and
you lose a year," he added, remembering the timber
and the rival buyers who might forestall him, " Shall
v/e go now? " (this last to Nikita).

Nikita returned no answer for a moment, and seemed
absorbed in the task of thawing out his beard and
moustache. At length he muttered gruffly:

" It would hardly do to get lost again, would it? "

As a matter of fact, he was gruff because he wanted
the vodka so badly, and the only thing which would
assuage that ^'earning of his was tea — which he had
not yet been offered.

" But we need only to reach that turning," pro-
tested Vassili, " and we simply can't lose our way after-
wards. From there onwards it v/ill be all forest road."

" Well, it is for you to say, Vassili Andreitch,"
said Nikita as he took the tumbler of tea now proffered
him. " If we must go, we must, that's all."

28 Master and Man

" Drink up the tea, then, and quick march."

Nikita said no more (although he shook his head
disapprovingly), but poured the tea out carefully into
the saucer and began to warm his work-swollen
fingers in the steam. Then, having bitten off a crumb
from his lump of sugar, he bowed to his hosts, said
" A good health to you all! " and poured the grateful
liquid down his throat.

" If only we had someone to guide us to the turn-
ing! " sighed Vassili.

" Tliat could be managed," said the eldest brother.
" Petrushka could harness a horse and go with you
as far as that."

" Harness up, then, brother, and my best thanks
to you," exclaimed Vassili.

" And to you also, good sir," said the hospitable
old woman. " We have been only too pleased to see

you."

" Petrushka, off you go and harness the mare,"
ordered the eldest brother.

" Very well," replied Petrushka smilingly as he
seized his cap from a peg and departed.

Whilst the horses were being got ready the con-
versation passed to the subject which had been inter-
rupted when Vassili drove up to the window. It
seemed that the old man had been com]^laining to the
neighbour (who was also the local starosta ') about his
third son, who had sent him no gift for the festival,
but had given his wife a French shawl.

" The young people are getting out of hand now-
adays," said the old man.

" Indeed they are ! " agreed the neighbour. " There
is no living with them. They are growing much too
clever. Look at Demotchkin, who broke his father's
arm the other day — all through his being too clever,
of course! "

Nikita kept listening and looking from one to the
other of the speakers' faces with an evident desire to
join in the conversation, but he was too full of tea to
' The village headman.

Master and Man 29

do so, and therefore merely nodded his head approv-
ingly at intervals. He had drunk tumbler after
tumbler of tea, until he had grown warmer and
warmer and more and more good-humoured. The
conversation lasted for quite a long time on this
subject — on the evil of dividing up families — and
proved too absorbing to be successfully diverted,
so that in time it passed to the dissensions in this
particular household — to the separation which the
second son (who had been sitting by meanwhile
and maintaining a sullen silence) was demanding.
Evidently it was a moot point, and the question
above all others which was exercising the household,
yet politeness had hitherto prevented the family
from discussing such a private affair before strangers.
At length, however, the old man could not forbear,
and with tears in his voice went on to say that, so
long as he lived, he would never permit the separa-
tion; that he maintained his household to the glory
of God; and that, once it were divided, it would
become scattered all over the world.

" Yes, that is what happened to the Matvieffs,"
observed the neighbour. " They were a comfortable
household once, but separated — and now not a single
one of them has anything left."

" That is what you desire for us, I suppose? " said
the old man, turning to his son.

The son returned no answer, and an awkward
silence ensued until interrupted by Petrushka, who
had duly harnessed his horse and been back in
the hut for some minutes past, smiling the whole
time.

" It reminds me of a fable in Paulson," he said.
" A father gave his son a broom to tear across. None
of them could tear it: but, twig by twig — well, that
was easy enough. So also it will be in our case," he
added with a broad smile. " But I am quite ready
to start now."

" Then, if you are ready, let us be off," said Vassili.
" About that separation, good grandfather — do not

30 Master and Man

give in. It is yon who have made the household, and
therefore it should be yoii who are master of it. If
necessary, refer the matter to the mirovoi.^ He
would settle it for you."

" But to behave like this, to behave like this! "
cried the old man, with unrestrained grief. " There is
no living with them. It is the Devil's doing entirely."

Meanwhile Nikita, his fifth tumbler of tea swallowed,
had placed the empty glass by his side instead of
returning it, in the hope that he would be given a
sixth. But there was no more water left in the sam-
ovar, and so the hostess brewed no more tea, while
Vassili was already putting his fur coat on. Accord-
ingly, there being nothing else for it, Nikita rose, re-
placed his lump of sugar (which he had nibbled on
every side) in the sugar-basin, wiped his perspiring
face with the lappet of his jacket, and went to put on
his khalat. This done, he sighed heavily. Then he
thanked and took leave of his hosts, and left the warm,
bright living-room for the cold, dark porch, which was
rattling with the wind which hurtled through it and
which had drifted the snow through the chinks of the
quaking outer door until it lay in heaps upon the floor.
Thence he passed into the dark courtyard.

Petrushka, clad in a sheepskin jacket, was standing
by his horse in the middle of the yard and smilingly
quoting some verses from Paulson:

" The lowering tempest hides the sky,

The whirlwind brings the driving snow ;
Now like a wild beast it doth cry,
Now like a child it whimpers low."

Nikita nodded his head approvingly and unhooked
the reins, while the old man brought a lantern into
the porch to guide Vassili to the sledge. He tried
to hght him with it, but it was blown out in a twinkling.
Even in the yard it was easy to tell that the storm was
worse than ever.

" What fearful weather! " thought Vassili to him-
self. " Perhaps we shall never get there. However,

' The local magistrate.

Master and Man 31

there is business to be thought of. Besides, I have
got myself ready now, and my host's horse has been
put in. God send we get there, though! "

The old man likewise was thinking that it would
be better for them not to set out, but he had already
tried to dissuade them, and they had not listened to
him. It would be no use asking them again.

" Perhaps, too, it is only old age which makes me so
nervous, and they will arrive safely," he thought.
" Let us ourselves at least go to bed in the meanwhile.
Enough of talking for to-night."

Petrushka, at all events, had no thought of danger.
Pie knew the road and the whole neighbourhood too
well for that. Moreover, he had been greatly put upon
his mettle by the couplet about the whirlwind and
the snow, which seemed to him to describe with ex-
traorchnary exactness what was to be seen in the
yard. As for Nikita, he had no wish to go at all, but
he had been too long accustomed not to have his
own way and to serve others; so that in the end
there was no one to prevent them from setting
out.

Vassili walked through the porch, peered about in
the darkness till he discerned where the sledge was,
took the reins, and chmbed in.

" All right in front! " he cried. Petrushka, kneel-
ing in his own sledge, started his horse, and Brownie,
with a loud neigh as he scented the mare in front of
him, dashed away after her. They issued thus into
the village street, passed the outskirts, and took the
same road as before — the road which ran past the
yard with the frozen hnen (although the linen was
quite invisible now), past the barn heaped with
snow, and from the gables of which a cloud of
snow-dust kept blo\Nang, and past the bending vines
with their mysterious murmurings and pipings.
Then once more the travellers were launched upon a

32 Master and Man

sea of snow, which raged both above and below them.
The wind was so strong that when it was upon their
flank and their wrappings filled before it, it actually
careened the s^.edge to one side and threw the cob
out of his stride. Petrushka kept shouting en-
couragement as he drove his stout mare ahead of
them, while the cob followed her closely.

After about ten minutes' driving, Petrushka turned
aside and shouted something, but neither Vassih nor
Nikita could tell what he said for the sound of the
wind. They guessed, however, that they had reached
the turning. Sure enough, Petrushka had wheeled
to the right, and the wind, which had hitherto been
chiefly on their flank, now met them full in the face,
whilst something could be seen showing black through
the snow on their right hand. It was the copse which
marked the turning.

" God go with you! " cried Petrushka.

" Thank you, thank you, Petrushka! "

" The lowering tempest hides the sky," shouted
the lad once more, and vanished.

" Goodness, what a poetry-spouter! " remarked
Vassili as he started the cob again.

" Yes, he is a fine young fellow, a real honest
muzhik," returned Nikita, and they went on. In
order not to squander the warmth engendered by the
tea which he had drunk in the hut, Nikita wrapped
himself up well, hunched his shoulders until his short
beard covered his throat, and sat perfectly silent.
In front of him he could see the two dark lines of the
shafts forever cheating his eye, and looking to him
like the ruts of a beaten road; the cob's tossing flank
and knotted, wind-blown tail; and, further ahead,
the animal's lofty donga, nodding head and neck, and
dishevelled mane. At intervals posts would leap
into sight, and he would know that the sledge was
still keeping the road and that there was nothing for
him to do. Vassili held the reins loosely, leaving it to
the cob to guide himself. Nevertheless, although
Brownie had had a long rest in the village, he went

Master and Man 33

unwillingly, and as though lie would like to turn aside
at any moment, so that Vassili frequently had to
straighten him again.

" There goes a post on the right — two — three,"
counted Vassili. " And there is the forest in front,"
he went on to himself as he gazed at something show-
ing dark ahead of them. However, what had seemed
to him a forest proved to be only a bush. This they
passed, and had covered another fifty yards or so —
when, behold! there was neither forest nor a fourth
post to be seen!

" Never mind; we shall be at the forest in a
moment," thought Vassili as, excited by the vodka
and tea, he jerked the reins again instead of pulling
up. The willing, docile animal obeyed and, now at
an amble and now at a moderate trot, went whither
he was driven, although he knew that it was in the
wrong direction. Another ten minutes passed, and
still there was no forest.

" We have missed the road again! " exclaimed
Vassili, at last pulling up. Without speaking, Nikita
descended from the sledge, and, after tucking up his
khalat, which sometimes clung to him and sometimes
flapped up and down, according to the strength of the
gusts of wind, began to flounder about over the
snow. First he tried the one side, and then the other,
and thrice vanished altogether. At last, however,
he returned, and took the reins from Vassili's hands.

" We must go towards the right," he said brusquely
and decisively as he turned the cob in that direction.

" Very well; if to the right, to the right," agreed
Vassili as he surrendered the reins and thrust his
numbed hands up his sleeves. Nikita said nothing
more beyond crying, " Now do your best, my pet! "
to the cob. Nevertheless, the animal moved forward
only at a foot's pace, in spite of all Nikita's shaking
of the reins. The snow was knee-deep in places, ancl
the sledge moved through it in jerks with each stride
of the animal. Presently Nikita took up the whip,
which had been hanging over the splash-board, and

34 Master and Man

used it once; whereupon the good cob, unused
to its lash, plunged forward and broke into a trot
— only, however, to subside again into an alternative
amble and walk. They proceeded thus for about
five minutes. It was so dark, and there was such a
swirl of snow both around them and on the ground,
that it was scarcely possible for them even to see the
cob's douga. Sometimes, indeed, it was almost as
though the sledge were standing still and the ground
gliding backwards from it.

Suddenly the cob stopped short, as though he had
scented something in front of him. Nikita threw
down the reins and leapt lightl}'' out, in order to go to
the cob's head and see what he was jibbing at; but
hardly had he taken a single stride ahead of the animal
when his legs shot up and he rolled down some steep
declivity.

" Phew, phew, phew! " he kept exclaiming all
the time he was descending and trying in vain to stop
himself, but his course wag only arrested when his
legs ploughed their way into a deep snowdrift at the
bottom, while, shaken by his struggles, the drift
overhanging the bank above him descended upon his
head and crammed a large portion of its mass down
the back of his neck.

" What a one you are, then! " said Nikita, reproach-
fully, both to the snowdrift and to the ravine, as he
attempted to shake the snow out of his coat-collar.

" Nikita, Nikita! " came in a shout from Vassili
above, but Nikita sent no answering call. He was
too busy for that, for he was employing all his energies
in shaking himself and searching for the whip, which
had rolled away somewhere while he was shooting
down the declivity. Having found it at last, he tried
to reascend at the spot where he had come down, but
found it impossible to do so, since he merely slid back
with each successive attempt; so that fmaliy he was
forced to proceed along the bottom to find a way out.
Nevertheless, only a few yards from the point where
he had descended he found a place v.here he managed

Master and Man 35

to creep up on all fours, after which he began to walk
along the edge towards the spot where he judged the
cob to be. Both cob and sledge were wholly invisible,
but inasmuch as he was walking against the wind,
he could hear Vassili's shouts and Brownie's welcom-
ing neigh some moments before he actually caught
sight of them.

" I am coming, I am coming," he exclaimed. " Why
make such a fuss about it? "

It was not until he was almost upon the sledge that
he was able to distinguish the cob, with Vassili stand-
ing beside it — the latter looming very large in the
obscurity.

" How the devil did j^ou manage to lose yourself? "
began his master, angrily. " We must turn back and
at least try to return to Grishkino."

" I should be only too glad," retorted Nikita.
" But which way are we to go? If we fall into this
ravine we might never get out of it again. I myself
have just found it pretty hard to do so."

" Yet we cannot stay here, can we? We must go
sojnewhere," retorted Vassili.

Nikita said nothing, but sat dovrn on the rim of the
sledge, pulled off his boots, and shook out the snow
which had collected in them. That done, he gathered
up a handful of straw and carefully plugged a hole in
the left one.

Vassili also said nothing, as though he meant now
to leave everything to Nikita. When the latter had
finished pulling on his boots again, he tucked his legs
onto the sledge, put on his mittens, took up the
reins, and turned the cob parallel to the ravine.
They had not gone more than a hundred yards, how-
ever, before the animal pulled up short. In front of
them lay the ravine again!

Once more Nikita got out and went probing about
over the snow. He was absent for some time, but at
length reappeared on the opposite side of the sledge
to that which he had started from.

" Are you there, Andreitch? " he shouted.

36

Master and Man

" Yes," replied Vassili. " Well, what now? "

" There is no getting out this way; it is too dark,
and there are too man}^ ravines about. W'e must try
driving back against the wind."

After doing so for a Httle while they stopped, and
Nikita once more alighted and went creeping about
over the snow. Then he remounted, but only to
ahght again almost immediately; until at length he
came to a halt by the sledge in a perfectly breathless
condition.

" Well, what? " inquired Vassili.

" Only that I am fairly done, and the cob nearly so
too."

" What are we to do, then? "

" Wait a minute." Nikita departed again, but
returned in a moment or two.

" Keep close behind me," he cried as he walked on
before the cob. Vassili had now ceased to give orders,
but humbly obeyed Nikita's directions.

" This way — after me," cried the latter again as
he turned sharply to the right and, taking Brownie
by the head, led him downwards towards a snow-
drift. The cob held back at first, and then made
a plunge forward as though to leap the snowdrift.
Failing in the attempt, he sank in up to the
collar.

" Get out of the sledge," cried Nikita to Vassili,
who had retained his seat meanwhile. Then, grasping
one of the shafts, he exerted all his strength to help
the cob to drag the sledge out of the drift.

" Pull, my pet! " he cried to Brownie. " One good
pull and the thing is done. Now, now ! J ust one good
pull!"

The cob made a brave effort, and yet another, but,
failing to extricate himself, settled down as though to
reflect upon the situation.

"Come, come, my pet; this won't do," Nikita
adjured Brownie. "Now then, once again!" and
he tugged at the shaft on his side, while Vassili tugged
at the other. The cob shook his head for a moment,

Master and Man 37

and then plunged forward suddenly in another
attempt.

"That's it! You're not going to be buried this
time, eh? " cried Nikita, encouragingly.

Another plunge — a second — a third — and the cob
had cleared the drift and stopped short, shaking him-
self all over and breathing heavily. Nikita was for
dragging the sledge a little further yet, but Vassili
was so exhausted with the weight of his two heavy
coats that he gave up and climbed in again.

" Let me rest a minute," he said, as he loosened
the handkerchief which he had wound round his coat-
collar before leaving the village.

"Very well; tlicre is no great hurry," returned
Nikita. " Sit still, and I wih lead the cob."

Accordingly Vassili remained in the sledge, while
Nikita led +he animal forward for about ten yards,
down a slope, then up again a little way, and finally
came to a halt.

The spot where he had done so was not actu-
ally in the ravine itself, where the snow blowing
off the hillocks and accumulating might have
buried them entirely, but in a spot partly shelt-
ered by the lee side of the ravine. Occasionally
the wind seemed to drop a little, but it was not
for long; whilst, as if to m.ake up for such lulls, the
blizzard would increase ten-fold after they were over,
and tear and swirl around the travellers more cruelly
than ever. One of these violent gusts struck the
sledge just as Vassili was descending from it to go
and take counsel with Nikita as to what they should do
next, with the result that they could only cower down
without speaking until the fury of the squall was
spent. As for Brownie, he flattened his ears and
shook his head in disgust. When the squall had
abated a little, Nikita took off his mittens, tucked
them into his belt, blew upon his hands, and set to
work to unfasten the bow-rein from the donga.

" Why are you doing that? " a.sked Vassili.

" Because there is nothing else to be done," replied

38

Master and Man

Nikita, thougli half-apologetically. " I am absolutely
tired out now."

" Then aren't we going to try and get any
further? "

" No, for we are only exhausting the cob for
nothing," said Nikita, pointing to the animal where
it stood patiently waiting for what might be re-
quired of it, yet scarcely able to hold itself upright
on its stout, sweat-belathered flanks. "Brownie is
willing enough, but he can hardly stand on his
legs. There is nothing for it but to spend the
night here."

Nikita said this as if he were proposing to put up in
an inn-yard, and went on unfastening the collar-thong
until the two clasps of the collar fell apart.

" But we shall freeze to death here! " cried Vassili.

" Well? What if we do? It cannot be helped,"
was all that Nikita vouchsafed to reply.

VI

Vassili was warm enough in his two heavy coats,
especially after his exertions in the snowdrift. Yet,
for all that, the frost seemed to breathe down his back
when he understood that the\' had to spend the night
there. To calm his apprehensions, he sat down in
the sledge and pulled out his matches and cigarettes.

Meanwhile Nikita unharnessed the cob. He undid
the belly-band and saddle-piece, ran the reins out,
unfastened the traces, and took off the doiiga, talking
cheerily to the animal the while.

" Out you come, out j^ou come," he said as he led
it out of the shafts. " Let me take off your bit and
tie you up here, and then you shall have some straw."
He suited the action to the word. " Eat away, and
you will feel all the better for it."

Nevertheless, Brownie did not seem to grow easier
under Nikita's touch, but kept fidgeting al^out as he
stood tail onwards to the wind. Every moment he

Master and Man 39

would shift his legs, press up to tlie sledge, and rub
his head against Nikita's sleeve. However, as if un-
willing to seem churlish about the meal of straw
which Nikita had strewn before his nose, he took an
occasional straw from the sledge, but appeared at
once to come to the conclusion that straw did not
meet the case, and tlirew it down again; whereupon
the wind caught it in a twinkling, whirled it away,
and buried it in the snow.

" Suppc3se we make a signal of distress," said
Nikita, presently. He turned the sledge a little
towards the wind, tied the shafts together with the
belly-band, turned them up, and rested them against
the splashboard.

" Now, if anyone passes this way they will be able
to see us by the shafts, and come and dig us out. I
learnt that trick from the old people," and he clapped
his mittens together and put them on.

Meanwhile Vassili had unhooked his fur coat and
made a shelter of its skirts. Then he struck match
after match against the steel match-box, but his
hands were shaking so violently with the cold that
each successive match either failed to light at all or
was blown out by the wind as he was in the act of
lifting it to his cigarette. At length a match did
flare up properly, illuminating for a brief second the
pelt of his fur coat, his hand with the gold ring on its
curved index finger, and the snow-covered straw
which projected from under the sacking. The
cigarette lighted, he drew a couple of greedy whiffs,
swallowed the smoke, and puffed it out again through
his moustache. Then he was about to take a third
whiff, when the wind caught the lighted end of the
cigarette and carried it away to join the wisps of
straw !

Nevertheless, even these meagre mouthfuls of smoke
had exercised a cheering effect upon him. "If we
must spend the night here, well, we must, that's all,"
he saia undauntedly. " Wait a moment and I will
rig up a flag."

40 Master and Man

Picking up the handkerchief which he had un-
wound from his neck and thrown dov/n upon the floor
of the sledge, he took off his mittens, cHmbed onto the
splashboard, stretched himself on tiptoe to reach the
belly-band, and tied the handkerchief round one end
of it and of the shaft in a stout knot. The handker-
chief at once began to wave wildly — now clinging to
the shaft, now suddenly filling out again and straining
at the knot as its folds cracked in the wind.

" Is not that clever of me? " said Vassili as he
stepped down again, much pleased with his handi-
work. " Now, if we could lie together, that would
be the warmest way, but I'm afraid that there isn't
room for both of us."

" Never mind; I will f:nd a place for myself/'
answered Nikita. " Only, I must cover the cob over
first, for he has been sweating a lot and is tired out.
Wait a minute" — and. diving into the sledge, he
dragged the sacking from under Vassili. Possessed
of this, he folded it double, and, removing the saddle-
piece and crupper from Brownie's back, covered him
over.

" You will be warmer like this, little fool," he said
as he replaced the saddle-piece and crupper. " And
now," he added to Vassili, " I will take the apron if
you don't want it to-night. Give me some straw,
too," and, thus taking one thing and another from
beneath Vassili, he went to the back of the sledge,
dug a hole in the snow there, and lined it with
straw. Then he pulled his cap over his eyes, wrapped
his khalat about him, with the a])ron over all, and
squatted down upon the straw with his back resting
against the bark tail-board of the sledge, that it
might protect him from the wind and snow.

Vassili shook his head in disapproval of Nikita's
proceedings (it was contrary to his habit to encourage
the peasantry in their rude, uncouth ways), and then
set about making his own preparations for the night.
First of all, he smoothed out rvhat straw was left in
the sledge, padding it a little thicker where his thigh-

Master and Man 41

bone was to rest. Then he pulled on his mittens
and lay down with his head in one of the corners
near the splashboard, that the latter might protect
him from the wind.

Somehow he did not feel sleepy, but lay thinking.
He thought chiefly of the one thing which constituted
his whole pride, ideal, aim and joy in life — namely,
the making of money, and yet more money. He
thought of the means by which certain acquaint-
ances of his had made their money, how they were
using it, and the means by which he, like they, might
make a great deal more than he already possessed.
The purchase of the Goviatchkinsky forest seemed
to him a matter of vast importance, since out of this
forest he hoped to make, at one stroke, a sum, possibly,
of ten thousand roubles. He mentally reckoned up
the value of the timber which he had viewed in the
autumn, and on the basis of the two dessiatins^ he
had then inspected went on to calculate the whole.

" The oak-wood will do for sledge-runners if cut
up, and for beams as they stand," he said to himself.
" And after they are felled there should be left about
30 sazhens^ of firewood to the dessiafin." Thus
calculating, he could see that the total value of
the forest worked out at about 12,000 roubles, but
could not reckon to an exact figure in the absence of
tables. " All the same," he went on, "I am not
going to give even so much as 10,000 for it — only
8000 — and that subject to deductions for open
spaces. I will grease the surveyor's palm with a
hundred roubles, or perhaps a hundred and fifty, and
he will measure me off the clearings at at least five
dessiatins. Yes. the owner will be glad to let the
forest go at 8000 roubles. I have 3000 ready for
him here," thought Vassili as he felt for his pocket-
book with the inside of his fore-arm; " and that
should melt him. How on earth we came to miss
that turning God only knows. There must be a
forest and a forest-keeper som.ewhere about there.

' The dcs£iatin = 2^ acres. ^ The sazhen- 7 English feet.

42 Master and Man

His dog ought to have heard us. The cursed brutes
never bark when they're wanted to."

He turned back his coat-collar from his ear and
listened. Nothing was to be heard but the whistl-
ing of the wind, the rustling and cracking of the
handkerchief on the shafts, and the swish of the
snow as it lashed the bark sides of the sledge. He
covered his ear over again.

" If only I had known that we should have to
spend the night here! " he thought. " Well, we shall
get there to-morrow, all the same. It will only mean
one day lost. Besides, those other fellows wouldn't
come either — not in such weather."

Suddenly he remembered that on the 9th of the
month he v/as to be paid some money for wethers by
the butcher.

" I ought to be back by then to receive it. He
couldn't take me in over the price, whereas my wife
doesn't in the least know how to bargain. In fact,
she doesn't understand how to talk to anyone," he
v/ent on as he remembered her failure to make con-
versation to the stanovoi,^ who had been one of their
guests of yesterday for the festival. " She is a
woman — that is the long and the short of it. More-
over, what had she ever seen before I married
her? Her father was only a well-to-do muzhik.
A shabby little farm — that was all his property.
But what have I not acquired in fifteen years?
A store, two taverns, a mill, a granary, two rented
holdings, and an iron-roofed villa and warehouse
combined." He swelled with pride. " Rather dif-
ferent to her father, I think! In fact, who is the
chief man in tlic district to-day? Why, Vassili
Brekhunoff, of course! "

"And why so?" he continued presently. "Be-
cause I devote my whole attention to business
and work hard — not like some people who lie
abed and play the fool. / don't sleep whole nights
away. No. Blizzard or no blizzard, out I go if

' The local magistiato.

Master and Man 43

necessary', and my business gets done. Tliey tkink
me a fool, and laugh at my money-making : but never
mind, Vassili — go on working hard, even if it makes
3'our head ache. If necessary, spend a night in the
open hke this rather than lose time. Never mind if
you cannot sleep, either. To be able to think such
thoughts is a pillow in itself," he concluded proudly.

" Some people seem to think that riches come to
one by chance. Pooh! There is only one Mironoff
in a million. No. Work hard, and God will give you
the rest. If only He give you health and strength,
that alone should be sufficient. "

And the mere thought that he might one day be-
come such a millionaire as Mironoff, who had risen
from nothing, so fired Vassili with ecstasy that he
yearned to have someone to speak to. Yet there
was no one. Ah, but, once he could win to Goviatch-
kina, he would have a landowner to speak to — and to
bamboozle as well!

" Good heavens, how it blows ! " he continued as he
listened to a squall of wind which was beating against
the splashboard and bending it inwards as it lashed
the bark planking with snow. " It is drifting the snow
so much that perhaps we shall never get out in the
morning."

Nothing could be seen in the white swirl of
obscurity but Brov/nie's dark head and tail and the
sack covering his back. At intervals the wind would
toss the corners of the sack aloft, while in front and
behind and on either side of the sledge whirled the
same uniform mass of whiteness — now lightening a
little, now suddenly becoming denser.

" I was a fool ever to have listened to Nikita," he
thought. " We ought to have gone on again, and
we should have landed somewhere. We might have
reached Grishkino again, and been able to put up at
Tarass's place after all. Yet here we have to stick
all night! What is the good of that? God gives
to those who help themselves, but not to loafers,
sluggards and fools. I must try smoking again."

44 Master and Man

He sat up, got out a cigarette, and then rolled over
on his stomach to shield the flame of the match from
the wind with the flap of his coat. Yet the wind found
an entry somehow, and blew out the matches, one by
one. At length he contrived to keep one alight, and
started smoking. He felt greatly pleased with his
success, and although the wind got more of the smoke
than he did, he managed to draw three whiffs, and
was much cheered by them. He rolled himself back
into a sitting posture, v/rapped himself up again, and
started once more to think over and consider matters;
until suddenly, and without warning, he lost con-
sciousness and went off into a doze.

All at once something seemed to jostle him, and he
awoke. It might have been Brownie pulling away
straw from beneath him. or it might have been
the result of some internal disturbance, but at all
events he awoke — and with his heart beating so fast
and so furiously that the ver)^ sledge seemed to be
shaking under him. He opened his eyes. The scene
around him appeared exactly the same, except that
it seemed lighter.

" It must be the dawn," he thought to himself.
" It will soon be morning now."

Then all at once he remembered that the fact of its
getting lighter could only mean that the moon was
rising. He raised himself again, and looked at the
cob. Brownie was standing with his hindquarters
to the wind, and shaking all over. The snow-heaped
sacking was turned up over his back on the windward
side, and the crupper was slipping down over his
flank, while his snow-powdered head and wind-tossed
mane and forehead-tuft were more clearly visible
than before. As for Nikita, he was still squatting
in the same position as when he had first sat down,
with his feet and the apron with which he had
covered his head all piled with snow.

" A muzhik never freezes," thought Vassili as he
bent over the back of the sledge and looked at him.
" No, not for all his poor clothes. He can be trusted

Master and Man 45

for that. Yet the muzhiks are a stupid lot — a mere
welter of ignorance."

For a moment he thought of taking the sacking
off the cob's back and covering Nikita over with it,
but it was too cold to get up and make the effort.
Moreover, he was afraid of the cob starving if he
did.

" What on earth did I take Nikita for? " he re-
flected. " I have her stupidity to thank for it all,"
(he was thinking of his wife). Then he rolled back
into his former position by the splashboard. " My
uncle spent a night in the snow like this," he
went on, " yet he took no harm. Sebastian, too,
once had to be dug out," he continued as another
instance occurred to him. " Sebastian died, though,
for he was frozen stiff as a carcase. If only we had
stayed at Grishkino! "

Wrapping his coat more carefully about him, so
that the protection of the fur should not be wasted
at an}' point, but keep him warm from head to heels,
he closed his eyes and tried to sleep again. Yet, for
all his efforts, he could not succeed, but, on the con-
trary, continued absolutely alert and wakeful. Once
more he began to make business calculations and to
run over his outstanding debts. Once more, too,
he began to appraise himself and to congratulate
himself on his position in the world.

None the less, his every thought seemed to be
broken in upon by a sort of haunting fear, as well as
by a feeling of vexation that they had not stayed at
Grishkino.

" To think of it! " he murmured. " 'Way, at this
moment I might have been lying in a warm bed! "

More than once he turned himself over and resettled
himself, in a vain endeavour to find an easier position
and one more protected from the wind, but each new
posture proved more uncomfortable than the last.
At length he raised himself again, changed his position
altogether, wrapped his legs up carefully, closed his
eyes, and tried to lie perfectly still. Yet, either his

46

Master and Man

feet, squeezed into their stiff top-boots, had begun to
ache, or the wind was catching him somewhere, but
at all events he had not been lying long in this
position before he found himself angrily remember-
ing that at this very moment he might have been
lying in a warm hut at GrLshkino. Again he raised
himself, again he wTapped his coat about him, and
resettled himself. Once he thought he heard the
far-off sound of cocks crowing, whereupon he turned
down the collar of his coat m a tremor of joy and
listened attentively; yet. for all his straining of his
ears, he could hear nothing but the whistling of
the wind through the shafts, the flapping of the
handkerchief, and the lashing of the snow against the
bark sides of the sledge.

As for Nikita, he remained squatting as he had
done since the previous evening. Never once had he
stirred, nor returned any answer to Vassili's shouts,
although the latter had called to him more than
once.

" He seems to have no difficulty in sleeping,"
thought Vassili with irritation as he leant over the
back of the sledge and looked at the snow-covered
Nikita.

In all, Vassili must have got up and lain down
again at least twenty times. It seemed to him as if
the night would never end.

" Surely it must be nearly morning now? " he
thought once as he raised himself and glanced
about him. " How would it be to look at my
watch? But no; I might get frozen if I unhooked
my coat. Yet, once I knew that it was drawing
towards morning, things would seem better, and we
would set about harnessing the cob."

In the depths of his soul, however, Vassili knew
quite well that it could not be near morning yet.
The truth was that his nervous panic was increasing
to such an extent that he wished both to verify his
supposition and to deceive himself. In the end he
finished by carefully unhooking his fur coat, thrusting

Master and Man 47

his hand in, and groping about till he dug down to his
waistcoat. A further series of efforts enabled him to
draw out his silver watch, with its enamelled chasing
of flowers. Then he tried to look at it, but nothing
could be seen without a light. Once more he lay
down upon his elbows and stomach (as he had done
when getting ready to smoke), pulled out his matches,
and set about striking one. By this time he had
grown more expert at the business, and, feeling for
the match with the largest head of sulphur, he con-
trived to light it at the first attempt. Then, thrust-
ing the dial of the watch under the light, he looked
at it, and could hardly believe his eyes ! It was only
ten minutes past one! The whole night lay before
him!

" Oh, the long, long night! " he groaned, feeling as
though the frost were striking down his back already.
Then, hooking his coat up again and wrapping it
about him, he sat back in the corner of the sledge,
and prepared to wait with what patience he might.

Suddenly, above the monotonous wail of the wind
he heard a new sound — a sound made by some living
creature. It grew steadily louder, attained its
maximum, and began as steadily to die away again.
There could be no doubt what it was. It was a wolf.
Nor was the beast so far off that the wind could
drown the gradations of tone in its howl as it moved
its jaws from side to side. Vassili put back his coat-
collar from his ear and listened strainedly. Brownie
was doing the same, his ears sharply pricked, and
when the howl ceased he changed his legs and snorted
imeasily. After this Vassili found it more than ever
impossible to sleep — found it impossible to steady his
nerves for a moment. The more he tried to think of
his biisiness affairs and accounts, his reputation,
dignity and wealth, the more did terror begin to
master him; while, above all other thoughts, and yet
mixed up with them, floated the persistent question —
*' Why did we not stop the night at Grishkino? "

" God be with that landowner and his forest," he

48

Master and Man

thought to himself, " 3'et I wish I had never come
across either of them. To have to spend the night
here! They say that men who have been drinking
always freeze readily, and I have been drinking
to-night." "

Listening thus to his own suggestions, he could feel
himself beginning to tremble, though he hardly knew
why — whether from cold, that is to say, or from fear.
He tried to cover himself up and lie down as before,
but found this impossible. He could not remain still,
even for a second, but felt as if he must be up and
doing something to stifle the terror which was rising
in him, and against which he felt himself powerless.
He got out his matches and cigarettes once more,
but of the former there remained but three, and they
of the sorriest kind. Indeed, all of them fizzled out
without lighting when struck.

"The devil take you, you cursed bit of rubbish!
Go and be hanged to you! " he burst out (though
hardly knowing what it was he was swearing at) as
he hurled the battered cigarette away. The match-
box was about to follow it, when he stayed his hand,
and thrust the box into his pocket. Such a fit of
restlessness now seized upon him that he could stay
no longer where he was. Leaping from the sledge,
and standing with his back to the wind, he began
lowering and tightening up his belt again.

" Why should we lie here, waiting for death to

come? " he exclaimed as a new idea suddenly struck

him. " Why not mount the cob and ride away?

V With only a man on his back he would never stick

k(_ fast." Then he thought of Nikita " Oh, but it

would be nothing to him to die," he went on. " What

can his life matter to him? He has nothing much

to lose with it, whereas 1 have much to gain with

mine."

/ So he untied the cob, threw the halter over its neck,

•"^ and tried to mount, but his fur coat and boots weighed

him down, and he slipped back every time. Then he

climbed onto the sledge and tried to mount from

Master and Man 49

there, but the sledge kept rocking under his weight,
and he failed again. At length, and for the third
time, he drew the cob close to the sledge, balanced
himself cautiously on the rim, and succeeded so far
as to find himself stretched face downv^^ards athwart
the animal's back. Lying thus, he wriggled himself
forward once or twice until he had got his leg over
and seated himself, his toes resting in the trace-loops
of the saddle-piece. But the jolting of the sledge as
it shook under Vassili's weight had awakened Nikita,
who now raised himself and seemed to Vassili to be
saying something.

" Look here, you fool," shouted Vassili. " It's all
through you that we have got into this plight — got
into it for nothing, too," and, tucking the flapping
skirts of his greatcoat beneath his knees, he turned
the cob round, and rode away from the sledge in the
direction where he thought the forest and the forest-
keeper's lodge must be.

VII

Up to this moment Nikita had never once stirred
since he first squatted down behind the sledge and
covered himself over with the apron. Like all people
who live in close contact with nature and are familiar
with hardship, he was patient, and could sit waiting
for hours, or even for days, without growing restless
or losing his temper. He had heard his master call
out to him twice, yet had returned no answer, for the
sole reason that he did not feel inclined to stir or to go
to the trouble of raising his voice. Although he was
warm enough at the time he had sat down, both with
the tea which he had drunk and with the exertion of
plunging through snowdrifts, he knew that that would
not last long, and that he would be powerless to
restore the warmth by exercising himself, since he
felt as utterly worn out as a horse feels when he stops
and can go no further, despite the severest whipping,

£

50 Master and Man

and his master sees that no further work can be got
out of him until he has been rested and fed. More-
over, one of his feet had got frost-bitten through its
ragged boot, so that the big toe had lost all sensation
and his whole body \vas becoming steadily colder and
colder. Consequently, in time, the thought began to
enter his head that he might have to die that night.
Yet the thought was neither particularly unwelcome
nor particularly awe-inspiring. It was not particu-
larly unwelcom.e, for the reason that his life had not
been exactly an uninterrupted holiday, but, on the
contrary, a life of ceaseless servitude, of which he was
beginning to groNV weary. Nor did the thought seem
to him particularly awe-inspiring, for the reason that,
over and above the masters whom he had served on
earth — masters such as Vassili Andreitch — he had
always felt himself dependent upon the Great Master
who had sent him into this life, and knew that, in
dying, he would still remain that Master's servant,
and that that Master would be good to him.

" Should I be sorry to leave the life in which I am
settled and which I am accustomed to? " he thought.
" Well, even if I have to go, I cannot help myself,
and it were best to prepare for the new one."

" My sins? " he went on presently as he remem-
bered his drunken orgies, the money squandered on
drink, his insults to his wife, his frequent oaths, his
neglect of church-going, his non-observance of fast-
days, and all the many things for which the priest
had reproved him at confession time. " Well, of
course they were sins — I have never denied that;
but it was God who made me what I am. Yet, what
terrible sins they have been! What will become of
me for such sins? "

Then, from thinking of what might be in store for
him that night he passed, without recurring to that
thought, to memories which came into his head at
random. He thought of Martha's arrival, of the
workmen's carouse, of his refusal to share their liquor,
of the present expedition, of Tarass's hut, of the talk

Master and Man 51

about family separations, of his little lad, of Brownie
(now, doubtless, growing warm under his sacking),
and of the master who was making the sledge creak
above him as he tossed and turned.

" Well, I had plenty of tea to drink there and was
tired," he thought " / had no wish to start out
again. / had no wish to leave such good living to
come and die in this hole. Yet he wished otherwise."

Then all these memories swam together and jumbled
themselves up in his head, and he went off into a
doze.

From this doze he was awakened by Vassili shaking
the sledge as he mounted the cob — shaking it so
violently that it slewed right round and struck Nikita
in the back with one of its runners, forcing him,
willy-nilly, to shift his position. Stretching out his
legs with some difficulty and sweeping the snow off
them, he raised himself a little, and at once felt a pang
shoot through his body. Understanding at the first
glance Vv-hat Vassili intended to do, he begged him to
leave the sacking behind, since the cob no longer
needed it and it would make an additional covering
for himself. He shouted to Vassili to that effect,
but the latter disappeared in the snow-dust without
heeding him. Left alone, Nikita considered what he had
better do. He felt that he had not sufficient strength
also to go off in search of a human habitation, while
it was impossible for him to resume his old seat, since
the snow had filled up the hole already. Even if he
got into the sledge, things would not mend, for he had
no extra covering, and his kJialat and fur jacket no
longer kept him warm. He could not have felt
colder if he had been clad only in a shirt.

The situation was becoming one of positive
agony.

"Little Father — our Little Father in Heaven!"
he cried aloud; and the knowledge that he was not
alone, but that there was One who could hear him
and would never abandon him, brought him comfort.
He drew a deep sigh and, with the apron still covering

52 Master and Man

his head, crept into the sledge and lay down where
his master had been. Even there, however, he could
not grow warm. At first he kept shivering all over.
Then the shivering fit passed away, and he began to
lose consciousness. He might have been dead or
asleep, for all he could tell, yet felt prepared for either
eventuality.

VIII

Meanwhile Vassili was using his heels and the spare
end of the halter to urge the cob in the direction
where, for some reason or another, he supposed the
forest and the forest-keeper to be. The snow blinded
his eyes and the wind seemed as if it were struggling
to stop him, but, bending forward at times to double
the skirts of his coat and tuck them between his knees
and the icy saddle-piece which made his seat such an
uncomfortable one, he pressed the cob onwards un-
ceasingly. The animal moved with difficulty, yet
proceeded whither it was directed in its usual docile
manner.

For what seemed to him some five minutes Vassili
rode straight ahead, seeing nothing in front of him but
the cob's head and ears and a sea of whiteness, and
hearing nothing but the vv^histling of the wind over
the cob's ears and round the collar of his fur coat.
Suddenly, however, something black showed up before
him. His heart began to beat hopefully, and he rode
towards the object, imagining that he already dis-
cerned in its outlines the walls of the houses forming a
village. The object did not keep still, however,
but was forever waving from side to side. In fact,
it turned out to be, not a village, but a tall piece of
wormwood, which, growing out of a boundary ridge
and projecting above the snow, bent violently over
to one side each time that the wind struck it and went
whistling through its stems. Somehow the sight
of this wormwood thus tortured by the cruel wind
caused Vassili to shudder, and he re-started the cob

Master and Man 53

in haste, without noticing that, in turning aside to the
wormwood, he had deviated from his former direction,
and was now riding at a tangent to it. None the less,
he imagined himself still to be bearing in the fancied
direction of the forest-keeper's hut, and, although
the cob kept trying to swerve to the right, he as often
straightened it again to the left.

For the second time a dark object loomed up before
him, filling his heart with joy, since he felt certain
this time that here was a village at last : yet it proved
to be only another boundary ridge topped with worm-
wood. As in the case of the first one, the sound of
the wind wailing through the dried stems seemed to
fill Vassili with fear. This piece of wormwood was
exactly similar to the other piece in all respects save
one — namely, that beside this second piece ran the
track of a horse's hoofs, slightly powdered over with
snow. Vassili pulled up, leaned forward, and looked at
the track carefully. It was the track of a small-sized
hoof, and the covering of snow upon it was, as yet,
a mere sprinkling. In short, it was the track of his
own cob! He had described a complete circle, and
that not a large one.

" So this is how I am to perish! " he thought.
Then, lest he should yield to his terror, he started
forward again, and urged on the cob even more
strenuously than before. At every moment, as he
strained his eyes into the swirl of whiteness before
him, he seemed to see dark points stand out for a
second and then vanish as soon as he looked at them.
Once he thought he heard what might have been
either the barking of a dog or the howl of a wolf, but
che sound was so faint and uncertain that he could
not be sure whether he had really heard anything or
whether it had been only his fancy. He stopped
and listened attentively.

Suddenly a weird, startling cry sounded in his very
ears, and everything beneath him seemed to heave
and tremble. He clutched the cob's mane, yet found
that that too was quivering, while the cry grew ever

54 Master and Man

more and more piercing. For some seconds Vassili
could not frame a thought or understand in the least
what was happening. Yet all that had happened
was that the cob had been seized with the idea either
of inspiriting himself or of calling for help, and had
neighed loudly in his raucous, guttural tones.

" How the beast frightened me, be hanged to it! "
gasped Vassili to himself. Yet, although he under-
stood now the cause of his terror, he could not shake
himself free from it.

" I must consider things a moment and steady
myself," he thought. Yet it was all to no purpose,
for he could not master himself — could not keep from
urging the cob on; taking no heed the while that he
was now riding before the wind instead of against it.
His body was chilled and aching all over, but especially
in the lower part, next the saddle-piece, where his
coat was unhooked, whilst his hands and feet were
shaking violently and his breath came in gasps. He
felt sure now that he was to perish in the midst of this
fearful waste of snow, and that nothing could save him.

Suddenly the cob gave a groan as it stuck fast in a
snowdrift, and, struggling violently, began to sink
sideways onto its flank. Vassili leapt off, displacing
as he did so the trace-loops in which his feet had been
resting, and so also the saddle-piece on which he had
been seated. Yet he had no sooner dismounted than
the cob righted himself, lurched forward, took a
couple of plunges, and disappeared with a loud neigh,
trailing behind him the sacking and harness, and
leaving Vassili stranded in the snowdrift. X'assili
made a rush to catch him, but the snow was so deep,,
and his fur coat so heavy, tliat he sank knee-deep at
every step, and had taken no more than twenty strides
when his breath failed him, and he had to stop.

" The timber, the wethers for the butcher, the rent-
hold land, the store, the taverns, the iron-roofed villa
and warehouse, my little heir — am I to leave them
all? " he thought. " Is it to end like this? No, no,
it cannot be! "

Master and Man 55

For some reason or another there came into his mind
at that moment a picture of the wormwood waving
in the wind, and of himself twice riding up to it.
Such terror seized upon him that he could hardly
believe in the reality of what was happening. " I
must be dreaming it all," he thought, and tried, as it
were, to awake from his dream: yet there was no
awakening for him. It was real snow that was lash-
ing his face, heaping his form over, and chilling his
right hand, which had lost its mitten. It was a real
desert, too, in which he was now left lonely — as
lonely as the wormwood — and in which he must await
an imminent, a swift, and an unthinkable death.

" O Queen of Heaven! O Holy Father Saint
Nicholas who teachest us abstinence! " he began,
with a dim recollection of the thanksgiving service
of yesterday, of the ikon with its blackened face and
golden vestment, and of the candles for that ikon
which he had sold, and which, returned to him
straightway, he had replaced in his locker after light-
ing them for a brief moment. Again and again he
besought the wonder-working Saint Nicholas to save
him from his fate, promising in return a thanksgiving
and many candles. Yet all the time he knew beyond
the possibility of doubt that, although that blackened
face and golden vestment, as well as the candles,
the priest, and the thanksgivings, were all of them
very important and necessary there in the church,
they could do nothing for him here, and that between
those candles and thanksgivings on tlie one hand,
and his present forlorn plight on the other, tliei'e
could be no real connection whatever.

" Still, I must not despair," he thought. " I have
only to follow the cob's track before it gets snowed
over, and it will bring me out somewhere. Only, I
must not hurry too much, or I might plunge into
another snowdrift and be worse off than ever."

Nevertheless, for all his determination to go quietly,
he could not help quickening his pace, breaking into
a run, tumbling down continually, picking himself

56

Master and Man

up again, and once more falling. Moreover, the cob's
track was almost invisible where the snow was not
deep.

" I am done for! " he said at last. " I am not
following the cob's track at all, but only losing my-
self."

Just as he said this, however, he happened to glance
ahead, and caught sight of something dark there. It
was Brownie! And not Brownie alone, but also the
shafts and the handkerchief! The cob was standing
beside the sledge, with the harness and sacking still
dangling down his flank — but standing in a different
position to before, since he was just under the shafts,
and had his head (which he kept shaking at intervals)
drawn close to the ground by the halter, which had
caught round his pastern. It seemed that Vassili
had stuck fast in the same ravine as that into which
Nikita and he had previously blundered — that, as a
matter of fact, the cob had been carrying him straight
back to the sledge, and that, at the moment when he
jumped off, he had only been fifty paces from it!

IX

Staggering up to the sledge, Vassili grasped hold of
it and stood for a long time without moving as he
endeavoured to steady himself and regain his breath.
There was nothing to be seen of Nikita in his old posi-
tion, but in the sledge there lay something heaped with
snow, which Vassili guessed to be his servant. Vassili's
terrors had now vanished — or, if any were left, it was
merely lest he should have a return of the horrible
panic which he had experienced on the cob's back,
and, still more, when he found himself left in the
snowdrift. At all costs he must not give way to that
panic again; and if he would avoid that, he must be
up and donig something — must be occupying his
thoughts with something. First of all he planted him-
self with his back to the wind, and unfastened his fur

Master and Man 57

coat to cool himself. Then, when he had regained his
breath a little, he shook the snow oft his boots and left-
hand mitten (the other one was hopelessly lost, and
probably lying somewhere a couple of inches below
the snow), and refastened his belt tightly — much as
he was accustomed to do when he was about to step
out of his store to buy cartloads of grain which the
muzhiks had brought. This done, he set about ex-
erting himself. The first thing which it occurred to
him to do was to disentangle the cob's leg, and, the
halter thus freed, he tied Brownie up to the rim
of the splashboard where he had been tied before.
Next, he had just gone behind the cob to straighten
the crupper, sacking and saddle-piece on his back,
when he saw something stir in the sledge, and then
the head of Nikita emerge from beneath the snow
which covered it. The frozen man raised himself a
little — though evidently with a great effort — and
made a strange gesture with his hand in front of his
face, as though he were brushing away a fly. As he
did this he seemed to Vassili to be saying something —
probably Vassili's name — so the latter left the sacking
unstraightened and stepped up to the sledge.

" How is it with you now? " he asked, ' and what
are you trying to say? "

" Only that I — I am dying," answered Nikita with
difiiculty and in gasps. " Give my wages to the little
lad or to the wife — it does not matter which."

" Are you frozen, then? " said Vassili.

" Yes — and dying; I know it quite well," replied
Nikita in a choking voic-j, and still fluttering his hand
before his face as thounh to brush away a fly. " Pardon
me, for Christ's sake."

For about half a minute Vassili stood without
moving and in silence. Then all at once, and with the
same air of decision as marked him when he had
struck hands over a good bargain, he took a step back-
wards, tucked up the sleeves of his coat, and began
with both hands to rake the snow off Nikita and
out of the sledge. This done, he unhooked his

58

Master and Maa

belt, opened his fur coat, pushed Nikita hastily into a
straight posture, and lay down upon him in such a way
that the latter should be covered, not only with the
coat, but with Vassili's own warm, overheated body.
With one skirt of the coat tucked between Nikita's
form and the side of the sledge, and the tail of it
grasped between his ankles, Vassih remained lying
prone, with his head resting upon the splashboard
and his ears deaf either to the movements of the cob
or to the howling of the wind, but intent only on
listening to Nikita's breathing. For a long time Nikita
lay without moving. Then he gave a deep sigh, and
stirred faintly.

" There you are, you see, and yet you talk of
dying! " began Vassili. " Just you lie still and grow
warm, and we — "

To his great surprise Vassili found that he could
say no more, for tears were welling from his eyes and
his lower jaw was working. He broke off short, and
swallowed a lump in his throat.

" How absurdly weak and nervous I have made
myself," he thought. Yet not only did he find
this weakness far from unpleasant, but it actually
gave him a sensation of joy such as he had never yd
experienced.

" Yes, we shall manage it all right like this," he said
to himself, conscious of a rapturous feeling of emotion.
After this he lay for a long time in silence, merely
wiping his eyes against the fur of the coat, and tucking
back its right-hand skirt as the wind blew it up at
intervals; but at length he felt as though he must
communicate his joy to a fellow-creature.

" Nikita," he said.

" That is better. I am getting warm now," came
from underneath him.

*' Nikita, my old friend, I thought we were done for.
You would have been frozen, and I — "

Once more Vassili's cheeks started quivering and
his eyes filled with tears, so that he could say no
more.

Master and Man 59

" No, it is no good," he said to himself. " Yet I
know what I know," and he remained silent. Still
he lay there. Warmth seemed to be passing into his
body from Nikita below and from the fur coat above.
Only the hands with which he held the skirts of the coat
against Nikita's sides, and his feet, from between which
the wind kept blowing the skirts away, were beginning
to feel frozen. His mittenless right hand in particular
felt numbed. Yet he never thought of his hands or
feet — only of how he could best warm the peasant who
was lying beneath him.

More than once he glanced at the cob and sav/ that
its back vv^as uncovered, since the sacking had now
slipped off altogether and was Ij'ing on the snow. He
felt as if he ought to go and cover the animal over again
yet could not make up his mind to leave Nikita, even
for a moment, and thus break the spell of that raptur-
ous joy which now possessed him. As for his terrors,
they had long since fled away.

" By heavens, I am not going to be beaten! " he
said to himself with reference to his efforts to warm
Nilvita — speaking, indeed, in just the same boastful
tone in which he had been accustomed to speak of his
sales or purchases.

He lay for an hour — for two — for three, but took
no heed of the passing of time. At first there danced
before his vision dim pictures of the storm, of the
shafts, and of the cob under its high donga. Then
these pictures became exchanged for jumbled
memories of the festival, of his wife, of the stanovoi,
and of the candle-locker — but beneath the picture
of the candle-locker lay Nikita. Then again he saw
the muzhiks trading with him, and the white, iron-
roofed walls of his house — but beneath the picture of
those walls again lay Nikita. Then everything be-
came confused. One thing ran into another, until at
last these various scattered impressions came to-
gether as the colours of a rainbow merge into a beam
of white light, and he fell asleep. For long he slept
without dreaming, but, just before the dawn came,

6o Master and Man

there came also some sleep-visions. He seemed to be
standing by the candle-locker, while old mother
Tikhonova was asking him for a five-copeck ^ candle
for the festival. He tried to take the candle out and
give it to her, but his hands remained glued in his
pockets. Then he tried to walk round the locker,
but his legs refused to move, and his new, clean shoes
stuck fast to the stone floor, so that he could not even
raise his feet to take the shoes off.

Then suddenly the locker was not a locker at all,
but a bed, and on that bed Vassili could see himself
lying, face downwards — lying on his own bed at home.
He was lying on the bed, and could not rise, although
it was necessary for him to do so, seeing that Ivan
Matveitch, the stanovoi, was coming to see him pre-
sently, and he must go with Ivan either to buy some
timber or to put the crupper straight on the cob's
back — he could not be sure which. He kept asking
his wife, " Has he not come yet, Mikolovna? " and she
kept answering him, " No, not yet." Then he could
hear someone driving up to the steps outside. Surely
it must be he? But no — the vehicle had driven past.
" Is he not come yet, Mikolovna? " he asked his wife
once more, and once more she replied, " No, not yet."
Thus he lay and lay upon the bed, unable to rise, and
ever waiting — waiting: and the waiting was at once
painful and joyous. Suddenly the joy of it was
filled to the full ! He for whose coming he had been
waiting, was now at hand and it was not Ivan Mat-
veitch nor anyone else. Yet still it was the Man for
whom he had been waiting. He entered — did that
Man — and called him: and this Man who had called
him cried out to him again and bade him go and lie
down upon Nikita. And Vassili was glad that this
Someone had come. " Yes, I will go! " he cried in his
joy, and with that cry Vassili awoke.

Yes, he awoke — but awoke a very different man to
what he had been when he fell asleep. He tried to
rise, and could not. He tried to move his hand, and

' =iid.

Master and Man 6i

could not. He tried to move his leg, and could not.
Then he tried to turn his head, but that also he could
not do. This surprised him, yet in no way troubled
him. Then he remembered that Nikita was lying
beneath him, and that Nikita was growing warm and
was coming back to life. It seemed to him that he
was Nikita, and Nikita he, and that his life was no
longer within himself, but within Nikita. He strained
his ears till he caught the sound of breathing — yes,
the faint, deep breathing of Nikita. " Nikita is
alive! " he cried to himself in triumph, " and there-
fore so also am I! "

Then he began to think about his money, his store,
his house, his sales and purchases, and Mironoff's
millions. He could not understand how that man
whom men called Vassili Brekhunoff could bear to
interest himself in such things as he did. " That man
can never have known what is the greatest thing of
all," he thought of this Vassili Brekhunoff. " He can
never have known what I know. Yes, I know it for
certain now. At last— I KNOW! "

Once again he heard the Man calling him who had
called to him before, and his whole being seemed to
respond in joy and loving-kindness as he replied: " I
am coming, I am coming! " For he felt that he was
free at last, and that nothing could hold him further.

And, indeed, nothing further than that did Vassili
Andreitch see or hear or feel in this world.

Around him the tempest still kept on. The same
swirls of snow kept circling in eddies and covering
the coats of the dead Vassili Andreitch and the
trembling Brownie, the sledge (now almost invisible)
and, stretched out upon its floor, the now reviving
Nikita as he lay prone beneath the body of his dead
master.

Just before morning Nikita awoke. It was the frost
making its way down his back which aroused him.

62 Master and Man

He had just been dreaming that he was driving from
the mill with a load of his master's flour, and that,
instead of taking the bridge over the stream, he went
by the ford, and stuck fast. He could see himself
getting under the load and trying to lift it as he
straightened his back. Yet, strange to say, the load
would not move, but clung always to his back, so that
he could neither move the cart nor withdraw himself
from beneath it. It seemed to be breaking his very
loins. And how cold it felt ! At all costs he must get
away from beneath it. " Hold on," he found him-
self saying to the someone who M'as causing the load
to break his back. " Take off some of the sacks."
Yet the load kept growing colder and colder, and press-
ing more and more heavily upon him. Then suddenly
something gave aloud bang, and he became fuJly awake
and remembered all that had happened. That chilly
load — it was his dead frozen master. That loud bang
— it had been caused by Brownie striking his hoofs
against the sledge.

" Andreitch, Andreitch! " he cried cautiously to his
master (though he half guessed the truth aJready)
as he raised his back stiffly. But Andreitch re-
turned no answer, while his body and legs were cold
and stiff and heavy as weights.

" There is no doubt that he is dead," thought Nikita.
He turned his head round, pushed the snow away
from in front of his face, and opened his eyes. It
was quite light now. The wind was still humming
through the shafts and the snow streaming down —
but with this difference, that the snow was no longer
dashing itself against the sides of the sledge, but
piling itself up in silence over sledge and cob —
from the latter of which not even the sound of breath-
ing was now to be heard.

" Brownie too must be frozen," thought Nikita.
And, indeed, those two loud hoof-strokes upon the
sledge which had awakened him had been the last
efforts of the now dead and frozen animal to keep upon
his less

Master and Man 63

' 0 God, Little Father of ours, surely thou wilt
call me also? " said Nikita. " If so, Thy will be done.
It would be hard that two of us should be taken and
the other left. Let death come when it will," and he
drew his hand in again, closed his eyes and fell asleep,
firmly convinced that this time he was really and
truly dead.

It was about the time of the midday meal next
day when some muzhiks dug out Vassili and Nikita —
seventy yards only from the road, and half a verst
from the village.

The snow had drifted completely over the sledge,
but the shafts, with the handkerchief on them, were
still visible. Brownie, belly-deep in the snow, stood
a white frozen mass, his dead muzzle pressed tightly
inwards against his rigid neck, his nostrils fringed with
icicles, and his eyes coated over and glazed with ice
as with frozen tears. Moreover, he had so wasted
away in that one night that there remained of him but
skin and bones. As for Vassili, he too was as stiff as
a frozen carcase, and when his legs were pulled aside
the corpse rolled off Nikita in a solid lump. His
prominent, hawk-like eyes were frozen hard, and his
mouth (open a little under his cropped moustache)
filled with snow. Nikita only was alive, though frost-
bitten all over. Yet, when brought to himself, he
could not be persuaded that he was not dead, and that
all that was now happening to him was not taking
place in the next world instead of in this. Indeed,
his first feeling when he heard the imizhiks shouting
above him as they dug out the sledge and then rolled
the stiffened Vassili off him was one of surprise that
muzhiks shouted in the next world even as they had
shouted in this, and had similar bodies! When at
length he understood that he was really here — here in
this present world — he felt vexed rather than pleased,
especially as he could feel that the fingers of both his
hands were frostbitten.

For about two months he lay in hospital. Three
of his fingers had to be amputated, but the others

64

Master and Man

healed, so that he was able to go to work again and to
live twenty 3-ears longer — first as a labourer, and
then, in his old age, as a watchman. Indeed, he died
only this year — at home and under the ikons, with a
lighted wax candle in his hands, just as he had always
wished. Before his death he took leave of his old
wife, and pardoned her for the cooper. He took leave
also of his son and grandchildren, and died thoroughly
happy to think that his death left his son and daughter-
in-law freed from the burden of having a supernumer-
ary mouth to feed, and that this time he himself would
really pass from a life which had grown wearisome
to him to that other life which had been growing
more and more familiar and alluring to him each year
and hour. Is he better or worse off now where he has
awakened after his death — the death which really
came that time? Is he disillusioned, or has he really
found what he expected? Soon we shall all know.

HOW MUCH LAND DOES A MAN
REQUIRE?

An elder sister came from the town to visit a younger
one. The elder one was married to a tradesman,
and the younger to a peasant. As the two drank tea
and talked the elder sister began to boast and make
much of her life in town — how she lived and went about
in ease and comfort, dressed her children well, had
nice things to eat and drink, and went skating, walking,
and to the theatre.

The younger sister was vexed at this, and retorted
by running down the life of a tradesman's wife and
exalting her own country one.

" For my part, I should not care to exchange my
life for yours," she said. " I grant you ours is an
uneventful existence and that we know no excitement;
yet you, on the other hand, with all your fine living,
must either do a very large trade indeed or be ruined.
You know the proverb : ' Loss is Gain's elder brother.'
Well, you may be rich to-day, but to-morrow you may
find yourself in the street. We have a better way
than that, here in the country. The peasant's
stomach may be thin, but it is long. That is to say, he
may never be rich, yet he will always have enough."

The elder sister took her up quickly.

" ' Enough ' indeed? " she retorted. " ' Enough ' —
with nothing but your wretched pigs and calves?
' Enough,' with no fine dresses or company? Why,
however hard your man may work, you have to live
in mud, and will die there — yes, and your children
after you."

"Oh, no," replied the younger. *"Tis like this

with us. Though we may live hardly, the land is at

least our own, and we have no need to bow and scrape

to anyone. But you in town — you live m an atmo-

K 6s

td How Much Land

sphere of scandal. To-day all may be well with you,
but to-morrow the evil eye may look upon you, and
your husband find himself tempted away by cards
or wine or some light-of-love, and you and yours find
yourselves ruined. Is it not so? "

Pakhom, the younger sister's husband, had been
listening near the stove.

" That is true," he said. " I have been turning
over our mother earth since my childhood, so have
had no time to get any foolishness into my head.
Yet I have one grievance — too little land. Only give
me land, and I fear no man — no, not even the Devil
himself."

The two women finished their tea, chattered a
little longer about dress, washed up the crockery,
and went to bed.

All this time the Devil had been sitting behind the
stove, and had heard everything. He was delighted
when the peasant's wife led her husband on to brag —
led him on to boast that, once given land, not even
the Devil himself should take it from him.

"Splendid!" thought the Devil. "I will try a
fall with you. I will give you much land — and then
take it away again."

II

Near these peasants there lived a lady landowner,
with a small property of 120 dessiatins.^ Formally
she had got on well with the peasants and in no way
abused her rights; but now she took as overseer a
retired soldier, who began to persecute the peasants
with fines. No matter how careful Pakhom might
be, one of his horses would get into the lady's oats,
or a cow stray into her garden, or the calves break
into her meadows: and for all these things there
would be fines levied.

Pakhom paid up, and then beat and abused his
household. Much trouble did he get into with the

' The dessiatin = 2j acres.

Does a Man Require 67

overseer for the doings of the summer, so that he felt
devoutly thankful to have got his cattle standing in
the straw-yard again. He regretted the cost of their
keep there, yet it cost him less anxiety in other ways.

That winter a rumour went abroad that the Barina^
was going to sell her land, and that the overseer was
arranging to buy both it and the highway rights
attached. This rumour reached the peasants, and
they were dismayed.

" If," they thought, " the overseer gets the land
he will worry us with fines even worse than he did
under the Barina. We must get hold of the property
somehow, as we all live round it in a circle."

So a deputation from the Mir- went to see the
Barina, and besought her not to sell the land to the
overseer, but to give them the refusal of it, and they
would outbid their rival. To this the Barina agreed,
and the peasants set about arranging for the Mir to
purchase the whole of her estate. They held a meet-
ing about it, and yet another one, but the matter did
not go through. The fact was that the Unclean One
always defeated their object by making them unable
to agree. Then the peasants decided to try and buy
the land in separate lots, each man as much as he
could ; and to this also the Barina said she was agree-
able. Pakhom heard one day that a neighbour had
bought twenty dessiaiins, and that the Barina had
agreed to let half the purchase money stand over for a
year. Pakhom grew envious. " If," he thought, " the
others buy up all the land, I shall feel left out in the
cold." So he took counsel of his wife. " Everybody
is buying some," he said, " so we too had better get
hold of ten dessiaiins. We can't make a living as
things are now, for the overseer takes it all out of us
in fines." So they took thought how to effect he
purchase.

They had lOO roubles laid by; so that by selling a
foal and half their bees, in addition to putting out their
son to service, they managed to raise hcdf the money.

' Great lady. ' Village commune.

68 How Much Land

Pakliorn collected it all together, selected fifteen
dessiatins and a small piece of timber land, and went
to the Barina to arrange things. The bargain struck,
they shook hands upon it, and Pakhom paid a deposit.
Then he went to town, completed the conveyance
(half the purchase money to be paid now, and half
within two years' time) — and lo! Pakhom was a land-
owner ! He also borrowed a small sum of his brother-
in-law, wherewith to purchase seed. This he duly
sowed in his newly-acquired property, and a fine crop
came up; so that within a year he had repaid both
the Barina and his brother-in-law. He was now an
absolute proprietor. It was his own land that he
sowed, his own hay that he reaped, his own firewood
that he cut, and his own cattle that he grazed.
Whenever he rode out to his inalienable estate, either
to plough or to inspect the crops and meadows, he
felt overjoyed. The very grass seemed to him
different to other grass, the flowers to bloom differ-
ently. Once, when he had ridden over this land, it
was just — land; but now, although still land, it was
land with a difference.

Ill

Thus did Pakhom live for a time, and was happy. In-
deed, all would have been well if onl3'the other peasants
had left Pakhom's corn and pasture alone. In vain
did he make repeated remonstrances. Shepherds
would turn their flocks out into his meadows, and
horses would somehow get into the corn at night.
Again and again Pakhom drove them out and over-
looked the matter, but at last he lost his temper and
laid a complaint before the district court. He knew
that the ])easants only did it from lack of land, not
maliciously; yet it could not be allowed, since they
were eating the place up. He must teach them a
lesson.

So he taught first one of them a lesson in court,

Does a Man Require 69

and then another; had one fined, and then a second.
This aroused feehng against him, and his neighbours
now began, of set purpose, to steal his crops. One
man got into the plantation at night, and stripped
the bark off no less than ten linden-trees. When
Pakhom next rode that way and saw what had
been done he turned pale. He drew nearer, and per-
ceived that bark had been stripped off and thrown
about, and trunks uprooted. One tree only had the
miscreant left, after lopping all its branches, but the
rest he had cleared entirely in his evil progress.
Pakhom was furious. " Ah! " he thought, " if only
I knew who had done this, I would soon get my own
back on him! " He wondered and wondereci who
it could be. If anj'one in particular, it must be
Semka. So he went to see Semka, but got nothing
out of him except bad language: yet he felt more
certain than ever now that it was Semka who had
done it. He laid a complaint against him, and they
were both of them summoned to attend the court.
The magistrates sat and sat, and then dismissed the
case for want of evidence. This enraged Pakhom still
more. He abused both the starshina^ and the magi-
strates. " You magistrates," he said, " are in league
with thieves. If you were honest men you would
never have acquitted Semka." Yes, there was no
doubt that Pahkom was ill pleased both with the
magistrates and with his neighbours. He began to
live more and more apart on his land, and to have
less and less to do with the Mir.

At this time there arose a nmiour that some of the
peasantry thereabouts were thinking of emigrating.
This made Pakhom think to himself: " But there is
no reason why I should leave my land. If some of
the others go, why, it will make all the more room for
me. I can buy up their land, and so hedge myself in
all round. I should live much more comfortably
then. At present I am too cramped."

It happened soon afterwards that Pakhom was
' Village policeman and headman.

70 How Much Land

sitting at home one day, when a travelling peasant
dropped in. Pakhom gave him a night's lodging
and a meal, and then questioned him, in the course
of conversation, as to whence in the name of God
he had come. To this the peasant replied that he had
come from lower down the river — from a spot be3^ond
the Volga, where he had been in service. Then he
went on to relate how a settlement was being formed
there, every settler being enrolled in the Mir and
allotted ten dessiatins of land. It was such land, too,
he said, and grew such rye! Why, the straw of the
rye was tall enough to hide a horse, and thick enough
together to make a sheaf per five handfuls! One
peasant, he went on, who had arrived there a poor
man and had had nothing but his two hands to work
with now grew his fifty dessiatins of wheat. Indeed,
during the past year that man had made 5000 roubles
by his wheat alone !

Pakhom's soul was fired by this, and he thought to
himself; " Why should I stay here, poor and cramped
up, when I might be making such a fine living as
that ? I will sell out here — both land and homestead
— and go build myself a new house and farm there
with the money. Here, in this cramped-up spot,
life is one long worry. At any rate, I might take a
trip there and make inquiries."

So when the summer came he got himself ready
and set out. He took a steamer down the Volga to
Samara, and thence tramped 400 versts till he came
to the place. It was all as had been described. The
peasants lived splendidly, with ten dessiatins of free
land to each soul, and he was assured of a welcome by
the Mir. Moreover, he was told that anyone who
came there with money could buy additional land —
as much as ever he wanted — right out and in per-
petuity. For three roubles a dessiatin a man could
liave the very finest land possible, and to any extent.

All this Pakhom learnt, and then returned home
in the autumn. He began straightway to sell out,
and succeeded in disposing both of land, buildings,

Does a Man Require 71

and stock at a profit. Then he took his name off the
Mir's books, waited for the spring, and departed to
the new place with his family.

IV

They duly arrived at their destination, and Pakhom
was forthwith enrolled in the Mir of the great settle-
ment (after moistening the elders' throats, of course,
and executing the necessary documents). Then they
took him and assigned him fifty dessiatins of land —
ten for each soul of his family — in different parts of
the estate, in addition to common pasturage. Pakhom
built himself a homestead and stocked it, his allotted
land alone being twice what he had formerly possessed
in the old place. It was corn-bearing land, too.
Altogether life was ten times better here than where
he had come from, for he had at his disposal both
arable and pasture land — sufficient of the latter
always to keep as many cattle as he cared to have.

At first, while building and stocking, he thought
everything splendid. Later, when he had settled
down a bit, he began to feel cramped again. He
wanted to grow white Turkish wheat as several
others did, but there was hardly any wheat-bearing
land among his five allotments. Wheat needed to
be grown on grass, new, or fallow land, and such land
had to be sown one year and left fallow for two, in
order that the grass might grow again. True, he had
as much soft land as he wanted, but it would only bear
rye. Wheat required hard land, and hard land found
many applicants, and there was not enough for all.
Moreover, such land gave rise to disputes. The richer
peasants sowed their own, but the poorer had to
mortgage theirs to merchants. The first year, Pakhom
sowed his allotments with wheat, and got splendid
crops. Then he wanted to sow them with wheat
again, but they were not large enough to admit both of
sowing new land and of leaving last year's land to lie

72 How Much Land

fallow. He must get hold of some more. So he went
to a merchant, and took a 3'ear's lease of some wheat
land. He sowed as much of it as he could, and reaped
a magnificent crop. Unfortunately, however, the
land was a long way from the settlement — in fact,
the crop had to be carted fifteen versts ; so, as Pakhom
had seen merchant farmers living in fine homesteads
and growing rich in the district where the land lay,
he thought to hirhself : " How would it be if I took
a longer lease of it and built a homestead there the
same as they have done? Then I should be right on
the land." So he set about arranging to do so.

Thus did Pakhom live for five years, continually
taking up land and sowing it with wheat. All the
years were good ones, the wheat thrived, and the
money came in. Yet just to live and live was rather
tedious, and Pakhom began to tire of leasing land
every year in a strange district and removing his
stock there. Wherever there was a particularly
good plot of land there would be a rush made for it by
the other peasants, and it v/ould be divided up before
he was ready to lease and sow it as a whole. Once
he went shares with a merchant in leasing a plot of
pasturage of some peasants, and ploughed it up.
Then the peasants lost it in a law suit, and his labour
went for nothing. If only it had been his own land,
absolutely, he need have given in to no one and been
put to no trouble.

So he began to cast about where he could buy an
estate outright. In this endeavour he fell in with a
certain peasant who had ruined himself and was
ready to let him have his property of 500 dessiatms
cheap. Pakhom entered into negotiations with him,
and, after much discussion, closed at 1000 roubles —
half down, and half to stand over. One day after they
had thus clinched the matter, a merchant drove up to
Pakhom's homestead to bate his horses. They drank
a tea-pot empty and talked. The merchant said he
had come a long, long way — from the country of
the Bashkirs, in fact, where (so he said) he had just

Does a Man Require 73

purchased 5000 dessiaiins for only 1000 roubles!
Pakhom went on to question him further, and the
merchant to answer. " All I did," said the latter,
" was to make the elders there a few presents {khalats,^
carpets, and a chest of tea), to distribute about a
hundred roubles, and to stand vodka to anyone who
felt inclined for it. In the result I got the land for
twenty copecks a dessiatin," and he showed Pakhom
the deed. "The property," he concluded, "fronts
upon a river, and is all of it open, grass, steppe land."
Pakhom questioned him still further.

" You would not," went on the merchant, " find
such land as that in a year. The same with all the
Bashkir land. Moreover, the people there are as
simple as sheep. You can get things out of them
absolutely for nothing."

" Well," thought Pakhom, " what is the good of
mj^ giving 1000 roubles for only 500 dessiaiins, and
still leaving a debt round my neck, when there I might
become a proprietor indeed for the same money? "

Pakhom inquired of the merchant as to how to reach
the country of the Bashkirs, and as soon as his in-
formant had departed, got ready for the journey.
Leaving his wife at home, and taking with him only
his workman, he set cut first for the town, where he
bought a chest of tea, vodka, and other gifts, as the
merchant had advised. Then the two drove on and
on until the}^ had covered 500 versts, and on the
seventh day arrived at the camp of the Bashkirs.
Everything turned out to be as the merchant had
said. The people there lived in hide-tilted wagons,
which were drawn up by the side of a river running
through the open steppe. They neither ploughed
the land nor ate corn, while over the steppe
wandered droves of cattle and Cossack horses, the

' A sort of long coat.

74 How Much Land

foals being tied to the backs of the wagons and their
dams driven up to them twice a day to give them
suck. The chief sustenance of the people was mare's
milk, which the women made into a drink called
kumiss, and then churned the kumiss into cheese.
In fact, the only drink the Bashkirs knew was either
kumiss or tea, their only solid food mutton, and their
only amusement pipe-playing. Nevertheless they all
of them looked sleek and cheerful, and kept holiday
the whole year round. In education they were sadly
deficient, and knew no Russian, but were kindly and
attractive folk for all that.

As soon as they caught sight of Pakhom they came
out of their wagons and surrounded the guest. An
interpreter was found, and Pakhom told him that he
had come to buy land. At once the people were
delighted, and, embracing Pakhom fervently, escorted
him to a well-appointed wagon, where they made him
sit down on a pile of rugs topped with soft cushions,
and set about getting some tea and kumiss ready.
A sheep was killed, and a meal served of the mutton,
after which Pakhom produced the gifts from his
tarantass,^ distributed them round, and shared out
also the tea. Then the Bashkirs fell to talking among
themselves for a while, and finally bid the interpreter
speak.

" I am to tell you," said the interpreter, " that they
are greatly taken with you, and that it is our custom
to meet the wishes of a guest in every possible way,
in return for the presents given us. Since, therefore,
you have given us presents, say now what there is
of ours which you may desire, so that we may grant
it you."

" What I particularly desire," replied Pakhom,
" is some of your land. Where I come from," he con-
tinued, " there is not enough land, and what there is
is ploughed out, whereas you have much land, and
good land, such as I have never before beheld."

The interpreter translated, and the Bashkirs talked

' Light two-wheeled cart.

Does a Man Require 75

again among themselves. Although Pakhom could
not understand what they were saying, he could see
that they kept crying out something in merry tones
and then bursting into laughter. At last they stopped
and looked at Pakhom, while the interpreter spoke.

" I am to tell you," he said, " that in return for
your kindness we are ready to sell you as much land
as you may wish. Merely make a gesture with your
hand to signify how much, and it shall be yours."

At this point, however, the people began to talk
among themselves again, and to dispute about some-
thing. On Pakhom asking what it was, the inter-
preter told him: " Some of them say that the Star-
shina' ought to be asked first about the land, and that
nothing should be done without him, while others
say that that is not necessary."

VI

Suddenly, while the Bashkirs were thus disputing,
there entered the wagon a man in a foxskin cap, at
whose entry everyone rose, while the interpreter said
to Pakhom: "This is the Starshina himself." At
once Pakhom caught up the best khalat and offered
it to the newcomer, as well as five pounds of tea. The
Starshina duly accepted them, and then sat down
in the place of honour, while the Bashkirs began to
expound to him some matter or another. He listened
and listened, then gave a smile, and spoke to Pakhom
in Russian.

" Very well," he said, " pray choose your land
wheresoever it pleases you. We have much land."

" So I am to take as much as I want! " thought
Pakhom to himself. " Still, I must strengthen that
bargain somehow. They might say, ' The land is
yours,' and then take it away again."

" I thank you," he said aloud, " for your kind
speech. As you say, you have much land, whereas

' Chieftain.

76 How Much Land

I am in need of some. I only desire to know precisely
which of it is to be mine; wherefore it might be well
to measure it off by some method and duly convey
it to me. God only is lord of life and death, and,
although you are good people who now give it to me,
it might befall that your children would take it away
again."

The Starshina smiled.

" The conveyance," he said, " is alread}^ executed.
This present meeting is our mode of confirming it —
and it could not be a surer one."

" But," said Pakhom, " I have been told that a
merchant visited you recently, and that you sold him
land and gave him a proper deed of conveyance.
Pray, therefore, do the same with me."

The Starshina understood now.

" Very well," he replied. " We have a writer here,
and will go to a town and procure the necessary
seals."

"But what is your price for the land?" asked
Pakhom.

" Our price," answered the Starshina, " is only
1000 roubles per day."

Pakhom did not understand this day - rate at
all.

" How many dessiaiins would that include? " he
inquired presently.

" We do not reckon in that way," said the Starshina.
" We sell only by the day. That is to say, as much
land as you can walk round in a day, that much land
is yours. That is our measure, and the price is 1000
roubles."

Pakhom was astounded.

" Why, a man might walk round a great deal in a
day," he said.

The Starshina smiled again.

" Well, at all events," he said. " it will be yours.
Only, there is one condition — namely, that if on that
same day 3'ou do not return to the spot whence you
started, your mone}' is forfeited."

Does a Man Require 77

" But how do you decide upon that spot? " asked
Pakhora.

" We take our stand," replied the Starshina, " upon
whatsoever spot you may select. I and my people
remain there, while you start off and describe a circle.
Behind you will ride some of our young men, to plant
stakes wherever you may desire that to be done.
Thereafter, a plough will be driven round those stakes.
Describe what circle you wish; only, by the time of
the setting of the sun you must have returned to the
place from which you started. As much land as you
may circle, that much land will be yours."

So Pakhom accepted these terms, and it was agreed
to make an early start on the morrow. Then the
company talked again, drank more kumiss, and ate
more mutton, passing on thence to tea, and the cere-
monies being prolonged tmtil nightfall. At length
Pakhom was led to a bed of down and the Bashkirs
dispersed, after first promising to gather on the
morrow beyond the river and ride out to the appointed
spot before sunrise.

VII

Pakhom lay on his bed of down, but could not get a
wink of sleep for thinking of the land which, as he
said, " I am going to farm here."

" For I mean to mark out a \exy large ' Promised
Land ' to-morrow," he continued to himself. " I can
cover at least fifty versts in the day, and fifty versts
should enclose somewhere about 10,000 dessiatms.
Then I shall be under nobody's thumb, and be able
to afford a pair-ox plough and two labourers. I shall
plough up the best land, and feed stock on the rest."

All that night Pakhom never closed his eyes, but
dozed off for a short while just before dawn. The
instant he did so he had a dream. He seemed to be
lying in this identical wagon and listening to some-
body laughing and talking outside. Wishing to see

78

How Much Land

who it was that was laughing so much, he went out-
side, and saw the Starshina sitting on the ground and
holding his sides as he rolled about in ecstasies of mirth.
Then in his dream Pakhom walked up to him and
asked him what the joke was — and immediately saw
that it was not the Starshina at all, but the merchant
who had so lately visited him to tell him about this
land. Then again, he had scarcely so much as said
to the merchant, " Did I not see you at my home a
little while ago? " when the merchant suddenly
changed into the peasant from away down the Volga
who had called at his farm in the old country. Finally
Pakhom perceived that this peasant was not a peasant
at all, but the Devil himself, with horns and hoofs,
and that he was gazing fLxedly at something as he sat
there and laughed. Then Pakhom thought to him-
self: " What is he looking at, and why does he laugh
so much? " And in his dream he stepped a little
aside to look, and saw a man — barefooted, and clad
only in a shirt and breeches — lying flat on his back,
with his face as white as a sheet. And presently,
looking yet more attentively at the man, Pakhom
saw that the man was himself!

He gave a gasp and awoke — awoke feeling as if the
dream were real. Then he looked to see if it were
getting light yet, and saw that the dawn was near.

" It is time to start," he thought. " I must arouse
these good people."

VIII

Pakhom arose, awakened his workman in the tar an-
tass,'^ and told him to put the horse in and go round
to call the Bashkirs, since it was time to go out onto
the steppe and measure off the land. So the Bashkirs
arose and got themselves ready, and the Starshina
also arrived. They breakfasted off kumiss, and were
for giving Pakhom some tea, but he could not wait.

' Two-wheel travelling cart.

Does a Man Require 79

" If we are to go, let us go," he said. " It is fully
time." So the Bashkirs harnessed up and set out,
some on horseback, and some in carts, while Pakhom
drove in his tarantass with his workman. They came
out onto the steppe just as the dawn was breaking,
and proceeded towards a little knoU — called in the
Bashkir dialect a shichan. There the people in carts
alighted, and everyone collected together. The
Starshina approached Pakhom and pointed all round
with his hand. " Whatsoever land you see from
here," he said, " is ours. Choose whichsoever direc-
tion you like." Pakhom's eyes glowed, for all the
land was grass, level as the palm of his hand, and black
beneath the turf as a poppy-head. Only where there
was a ravine was there a break in the grass — grass
which was everywhere breast-high. The Starshina
took off his foxskin cap, and laid it in the exact centre
of the knoll. " This," he said, " will be the mark.
Lay you your money in it, and your servant shall
remain beside it while you are gone. From this mark
you will start, and to this mark you wiU return. As
much land as you circle, all of it will be yours."

Pakhom took out his money, and laid it in the cap.
Then he dives 'cd himself of his cloak, stripped him-
self to his waistcoat, tightened his belt round his
stomach, thrust a wallet with some bread into his
bosom, tied a flask of water to his shoulder-strap,
pulled up his long boots, and prepared to start. He
kept debating within himself which direction it would
be best to take, for the land was so good everywhere.
" Oh^ well, as it is aU the same, I wiU walk towards the
rising sun," he decided at length. So he turned his
face that way, and kept trying his limbs while waiting
for the sun to appear. " I must lose no time," he
thought, " for I shaU do my best walking while the air
is yet cool."

Then the mounted Bashkirs also ascended the
knoll, and stationed themselves behind Pakhom.
No sooner had the sun shot his first rays above the
horizon than Pakhom started forward and walked

8o How Much Land

out into the steppe, the mounted men riding behind
him.

He walked neither slowly nor hurriedly. After
he had gone about a verst he stopped, and had a stake
put in. Then he went on again. He was losing his
lirst stiffness and beginning to lengthen his stride.
Presently he stopped again, and had another stake
put in. He looked up at the sun — which was now
lighting the knoll clearly, with the people standing
there — and calculated that he had gone about live
versts. He was beginning to grow warm now, so he
took off his waistcoat, and then fastened up his belt
again. Then he went on another five versts, and
stopped. It was growing really hot now. He looked
at the sun again, and saw that it was breakfast time.
"One stage done!" he thought. "But there are
four of them in the day, and it is early yet to change
my direction. Nevertheless, I must take my boots
off." So he sat down, took them off, and went on
again. Walking was easier now. " As soon as I have
covered another five versts," he reflected, " I will
begin to bend round to the left. That spot was ex-
ceedingly well chosen. The further I go, the better
the land is." So he kept straight on, although, when
he looked round, the knoll was almost out of sight,
and the people on it looked like little black ants.

" Now," he said to himself at length, " I have made
the circle large enough, and must bend round." He
had sweated a good deal and was thirsty, so he raised
the flask and took a drink. Then he had a stake put
in at that point, and bent round sharply to the left.
On he went and on, through the high grass and the
burning heat. He was beginning to tire now, and,
glancing at the sun, saw that it was dinner- Lime.
" Now," he thought to himself, " I might venture to
take a rest." So he slopped and ate some bread,
though without sitting down, since he said to himself:
" If I once sat down I should go on to lying down, and
so end by going off to sleep." He waited a little,
therefore, tiU he felt ]-ested, and then v/ent on again.

Does a Man Require 8i

At first he found walking easy, for the meal had re-
vived his strength, but presently the sun seemed to
grow all the hotter as it began to slant towards even-
ing. Pakhom was nearly worn out now, yet he
merely thought to himself: " An hour's pain may a
century gain."

He had traversed about ten versts of this lap of the
circle, and was about to bend inwards again to the
left, when he caught sight of an excellent bit of land
round a dry ravine. It would be a pity to leave that
out. " Flax v/ould grow so splendidly there! " he
thought. So he kept straight on until he had taken
in the ravine, and, having had a stake planted at the
spot, again wheeled inwards. Looking towards the
knoll he could see that the people there were almost
indistinguishable. They could not be less than fifteen
versts away. " Well," he thought, " I have covered
the two long laps of the circuit, and must take this
last one by the shortest cut possible." So he started
upon the last lap, and quickened his pace. Once again
he looked at the sun. It was now drawing near to
the time of the evening meal, and he had only covered
two versts of the distance. The starting point was
still thirteen versts away. " I must hurry straight
along now," he said to himself, " however rough the
country be. I must not take in a single extra piece
on the way. I have enclosed sufi&cient as it is." And
Pakhom headed straight for the knoll.

IX

He pressed on straight in its direction, yet found
walking very difhcult now. His feet were aching
badly, for he had chafed and bruised them, and they
were beginning to totter under him. He would have
given anything to have rested for a while, yet knew
that he must not if he was ever to regain the knoll
before sunset. The sun at least would not wait. Nay,
it was like a driver ever lashing him on. From time

82 How Much Land

to time he staggered. "'Surely I have not mis-
calculated? " he thought^to himself. " Surely I have
not taken in too much land ever to get back, however
much I hurry? There is such a long way to go j'et,
and I am dead beat. It cannot be that all my money
and toil have gone in vain? Ah, well. I must do my
best."

Pakhom pulled himself together, and broke into a
run. He had torn his feet till they were bleeding, yet
he still ran on, ran on, ran further and further. \Vaist-
coat, boots, flask, cap — he flung them all away. " Ah !"
was his thought, " I was too pleased with what I
saw. Now everything is lost, and I shall never reach
the mark before sunset." His fears ser\xd to render
him only the more breathless, but he still ran on, his
shirt and breeches clinging to his limbs with sweat,
and his mouth parched. In his breast there were a
pair of blacksmith's bellows working, and in his heart
a steam hammer, while his legs seemed to be breaking
under him and to be no longer his own. He had lost
all thought of the land now. All that he thought
of was to avoid dying from exertion. Yet, al-
though he was so afraid of dying, he could not stop.
" To have gone so far," he thought, " and then to
stop! Why, they would think me a fori! " By this
time he could hear the Bashkirs ( heering and shouting
to him, and their cries stirred his heart with fresh
spirit. On, on he ran with his last remaining strength,
while the sun was just touching the horizon. Ah,
but he was close to the spot now! He could see the
people on the knoll waving their hands to him and
urging him on. He could see the foxskin cap lying
on the ground, the money in it, the Starshina sitting
beside it with his hands pressed to his sides. Suddenly
Pakhom remembered his dream. " Yet I have much
land now," he thought, " if only God should bring me
safe to live upon it. But my heart misgives me that
I have killed myself." Still he ran on. For the last
time he looked at the sun. Large and red, it had
touched the earth, and was beginning to sink below

Does a Man Require 83

the horizon. Pakhom reached the knoll just as it
set. " Ah ! " he cried in his despair, for he thought that
everything was lost. Suddenly, however, he re-
membered that he could not see from below so well
as could the people on the knoll above him, and that
to them the sun would still seem not to have set. He
rushed at the slope, and could see as he scrambled up
it that the cap was still there. Then he stumbled
and fell — yet in the very act of falling stretched out
his hands towards the cap — and touched it !

" Ah, young man," cried the Starshina, " you have
earned much land indeed! "

Pakhom's servant ran to his master and tried to
raise him, but blood was running from his mouth.
Pakhom lay there dead. The servant cried out in
consternation, but the Starshina remaine(l sitting on
his haunches — laughing, and holding his hands to his
sides.

At length he got up, took a spade from the ground,
and threw it to the servant.

" Bury him," was all he said.

The Bashkirs arose and departed. Only the servant
remained. He dug a grave of the same length as
Pakhom's form from head to heels — three Russian
ells — and buried him.

THAT WHEREBY MEN LIVE
I

'* Wb know that we have passed from death unto life, because we
love the brethren, lie that loveth not his brother abidelh in
death.

But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have
need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how
dwelleth the love of God in him ?

]\Iy little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue,
but in deed and in truth.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and every
one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.

He that loveth not knoweth not God : for God is love.

No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another
God dwelleth in us.

God is love ; and he that dwellelh in love dwelleth in God,
and God in him.

If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar:
for he that lovelh not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he
love God whom he hath not seen?"' {i John iii. and iv.)

Once upon a tkne a cobbler lodged with his wife and
children at a muzhik's. He had no hut or land of his
own, but supported himself solely by cobbling. Bread
was dear, and work cheap, and he lived from hand to
mouth. He and his wife shared a sheepskin coat
between them — and it was a ragged one at that! —
but for the last two years he had been saving u]) to
buy a skin for a new one.

By the autumn he had amassed a small sum. Three
roubles in j^aper money lay in his wife's box, while
five roubles and twenty copecks were due to him
from certain muzhiks in the village. So one morning
after breakfast he put on his wife's twill-wadded
jacket over his shirt, and over that, again, his own
woollen kaftan.^ Then he thrust the three one-rouble
notes into his j)ocket, cut himself a walking-stick,
and set out. As he went along he thought to himself:
' Under-jacket or smock.
84

That whereby Men Live 85

" I will first get the five roubles out of those muzhiks,
then add to them the three roubles which I have
alread}^ and buy a sheepskin for a nev/ coat."

So he reached the village and went to call upon the
first muzhik. The muzhik was not at home, and
although his wife promised to send her husband along
with the money before the week v/as out, she could
not pay the cobbler anything at present. Then the
cobbler went to the hut of another mtizhik, but the
owTier swore by God above that he was destitute.
All that he could do was to clear off a little debt of
twenty copecks for the stitching of a boot.

Now, the cobbler had been reckoning that, if he
failed to get the money, he might be able to get a
sheepskin on credit; but the vendor of sheepskins
reckoned otherwise.

" Bring me all the cash," he said, " and then you
can pick what skin you like. We all of us know how
difficult it is to get quit of a debt."

Thus it came about that the cobbler did no business
that morning, beyond being paid twenty copecks for
a stitching job and receiving another pair of boots to
mend. Depressed at the result, he went and spent
the twenty copecks on vodka, and then started for
home. In the morning the day had seemed to him
frosty and cold, but now it felt quite warm, even with-
out a fur coat. As he walked along he kept talking
to himself as he struck at frozen lumps of snow v/ith
the stick which he carried in one hand and swung by
their laces the pair of boots which he carried in the
other.

" I feel quite warm without a sheepskin," he re-
marked. " I have drunk only the merest drop, yet
it is bubbling finely in my veins. I don't need a
sheepskin. I am going along now as comfortably
as can be. That is the sort of man I am. What have
I to fret about? I can worry along without that coat.
I shan't want it in a lifetime. Only, of course —
there's my wife. She keeps worrj'ing about it. Well,
it is a shameful thing that one should do a job for a

86 That whereby Men Live

man, and he should lead you a dance for nothing.
But just you wait, my fine fellow. If you don't
bring me my money this week I'll have the cap off
your head — by God I will! A fine thing indeed!
Then there was that other one — ^]5aid me a beggarly
twenty copecks! What can one do with twenty
copecks? Drink them, that's all. He swore he was
hard up. ' Are you hard up, then,' I might have said,
' and not I as well? You have a hut and cattle and
everything, while I ha\'e my all on my back. You
grow your own bread, while I have to buy it. Come
what may, I have to raise three roubles a week for
bread alone, and when I get home to-day the stock
will be finished, and out I shall have to fork another
rouble-and-a-half. Pay me what you owe me.' "

Thus the cobbler went rambling on, until he came
to the roadside chapel at the turning. Something
showing white behind it caught his eye. Dusk was
closing in, and although the cobbler peered and peered
at the thing he could not make out what it was.
" There never used to be a stone of any kind there,"
he thought. " Is it a bullock, then? No, it hardly
looks like one. It seems to have a head like a man,
somehow, only it is white ah over. But what should
bring a man there? "

He took a step or two nearer, and the thing became
distinguishable. Strange to say, it was a man,
whether dead or alive — a man sitting motionless, and
quite naked, with his back against the chapel. The
cobbler grew nervous as he thought to himself:
" Somebody must have murdered him, taken his
money, and thrown the bcdy there. Just you go on, and
see to it that yott aren't the next one to be robbed."

So the cobbler began to move forward past the
' hapel. As he drew level with it tlie man became
hidden from view, so the cobbler stopj)ed, stepped
backward a pace or two, peered about him, and saw
that the man was now sitting erect, and moving his
body to and fro as though trying to catch sight of him.
The cobbler's fears increased.

That whereby Men Live 87

" Shall I approach him or shall I go on? " he de-
bated. " To approach him might land me in the
Lord knows what. How am I to tell what he is?
He cannot be up to any good here. If I went near him
he might spring out upon me and throttle me before
I could get away. And even if he didn't throttle me
I might have an awkward tussle with him. What
could one do with a naked man? There would be no
getting rid of him until he had got everything I have.
The Lord defend us! "

He quickened his pace, and was nearly past the
chapel when his conscience began to prick him.

" What is the matter with you, Simon? " he asked
himself. " The man may be dying miserably, and yet
you pass him by as if you were afraid of him! Are
you so wonderfully rich, then, that you need guard
against having your valuables stolen? Fie, for shame,
Simon!"

II

So he turned back and approached the man. As he
did so he peered at him, and saw that he was a young
fellow in the prime of life, and that his body bore no
marks of violence. He seemed merely frozen and
terrified as he sat leaning forward without looking at
the approaching cobbler, as though too weak to raise
his eyes to do so. Just as Simon reached him, how-
ever, he lifted his head suddenly, like one recovering
from a swoon, and, opening his eyes wide, fixed them
on Simon's face. That look altogether reassured the
cobbler, and, throwing down the boots which he
carried, he unclasped his belt, placed it in the boots,
and began to take off his kaftan.

"Come!" he said. "What is this? You must
have something to put on. Here you are," — and,
taking the man under the arms, he essayed to lift
him. The man, however, rose unaided, and Simon
then saw that his body was slender and clean, while
his legs and arms bore no signs of injury, and his face

88 That whereby Men Live

was mild in expression. The cobbler drew the kaftan
over the man's shoulders, and since the latter had some
difficulty in finding the sleeves, Simon guided his arms
into them, then pulled the coat up, straightened out
the skirts, and belted them round. Next he took his
ragged cap off, and was just about to place it on the
naked man's head when he felt the cold strike upon
his crown.

" I am bald all over," he thought, " whereas he has
long, curly hair," — and he put his cap on again. " I
should do better to put those boots on him," he added
to himself, and, sitting down, did so.

The man thus clothed, the cobbler said :

" There you are, brother. Now walk along with
me and get yourself warm. Things like this cannot
be helped. Do you feel able to move? "

The man looked in a friendly way at Simon, but said
nothing.

" Why don't you speak? " asked the cobbler. " We
can't spend the winter here. We must get home to
my lodgings. Take my stick to lean upon if you feel
weak. Now then, come along."

The man then started and walked easily enough
and without lagging behind. As they proceeded
Simon asked him:

" Where do you hail from? "

" From another part than this."

" Yes, I know that, for I know everyone about here.
But how did you come to be by the chapel? "

" I cannot say."

" Someone must have assaulted you, then? '

" No, no one assaulted me. God was punching
me."

" Of course; all things come of God, and it is our
duty to submit to them. Yet where were you bound
for?"

" For nowhere in particular."

Thi^ rather surprised Simon. The man did not
seem like a rogue, and yet, civil though his speech was,
he would reveal nothing about himself. Simon re-

That whereby Men Live 89

fleeted, however, " One never knows how things may
be," and then continued to his companion:

" Well, come to my lodgings now, and you can go
on your way later."

So he walked on, and the stranger made no attempt
to leave him, but kept by his side. The wind was now
rising, and getting through Simon's shirt, wdth the
result that the drink was beginning to die out of him
and to leave him chilled. He kept wheezing through
his nose as he strode ahead and, wrapping his wife's
jacket about him, reflected:

" This is what that precious sheepskin has brought
me to! I v/ent out for a sheepskin, and am returning
without even so much as a kaftan to my back — let
alone that I am bringing a perfectly naked man with
me! Matrena will not be pleased, I am afraid," —
and that last thought made him nei"vous. Yet when
he looked at the stranger he remembered the glance
which the man had given him by the oratory, and his
heart, somehow, leapt for joy.

Ill

Simon's wife finished her duties betimes that day.
She chopped the firewood, fetched water, fed the
children, had something to eat herself, and then de-
bated when she should make bread — to-day or to-
morrow. There was still a large piece left.

" If," she thought, " Simon gets dinner there, and
so does not eat much for supper, the bread will last
over to-morrow."

Then she turned and turned the piece over, and
finally decided: " I won't make bread to-day.
There is only meal enough left for one loaf. We can
last over till Friday."

So she put the piece aside, and sat down at the table
to sew a patch onto her husband's shirt. As she
stitched away she thought of Simon, and wondered
whether he had bought a new sheepskin for a coat.

90 That whereby Men Live

" I do hope the sheepskin-seller won't cheat hun,"
she reflected; " but that man of mine is a regular
simpleton. He never cheats a soul himself, yet a little
child can lead him by the nose. Eight roubles is no
trifling sum. He ought to get a good skin for that —
if not a tanned one, at all events a good rough one.
How starved I have been all this winter without one !
Why, I couldn't even go to the brook, or anywhere!
This morning, again, Simon went out with all our
clothes upon him, and left me nothing to wear. He
is late in coming home, too. It is time he were home.
I hope he hasn't gone making merry, that rascal of
mine."

This thought had only just passed through her
mind when a tread was heard on the steps outside,
and someone entered. Matrena made fast her needle
in her work, went out into the porch, and there saw
that two persons had come in — namely, Simon, and
some man or other in felt boots and without a
cap.

At once she caught the smell of vodka proceeding
from her husband. " So he has been making merry! "
she thought; and when, in addition, she saw that he
lacked his kaftan and was clad only in her jacket, as
well as had nothing in his hand and nothing to say
for himself beyond a shrug of the shoulders, her heart
was torn within her. " He has drunk the money
away," she thought again. " Yes, he has been hob-
nobbing with this tramp, and then brought him home
as well!"

She ushered them into the hut in front of her. Then
she saw that the stranger was a thin, lanky-looking
young man — and that he was wearing their own
kaftan ! No shirt could be seen beneath it, nor cap
above it. When he had entered he remained stand-
ing perfectly still, with his eyes cast down, so that
Matrena thought: "He can't possibly be honest,
for he seems so nervous."

She frowned grimly, and crossed over to the stove
to v/atch what they would do next.

That whereby Men Live 91

Simon merely took off his cap, and sat down on the
bench as though perfectly conscience-free.

" Well, Matrena? " he said. '' Get us some supper,
will you? "

Matrena only snorted under her breath, and re-
mained standing by the stove. She never stirred,
but looked at them each in turn, and shook her head
ominously. Sunon then saw that his wife was put
out about something, but, there being no help f^r it,
he appeared not to notice her, but took the stranger
by the arm.

" Sit you down, brother," he said, " and we will
have some supper." The stranger seated himself on
the bench beside Simon.

" Have you anything cooked that you could give
us? " the latter v/ent on to his wife.

Then temper got the better of Matrena.

" Yes, I have something cooked," she retorted,
" but not for you. You, I can see, have drunk your
senses away. You go out to buy a sheepskin, and
come home without even a kaftan — and with a naked
tramp in tow as well. I have no supper for a pair of
drunkards like you."

" Come, come, Matrena! Why wag your tongue
so foolishly? You should first have asked me who
the man is."

" Well, suppose you tell me, then, what you have
done with the money? "

For answer, Simon approached the kaftan, took the
paper money out of one of the pockets, and unrolled
it.

" Here is the money," he said. " Trofinoff did not
pay up to-day, but has promised to do so to-morrow."

But ]\Iatrena's rage only increased. He had brought
no sheepskin with him, had put their one and only
kaftan onto a naked man's back, and brought him
home! She snatched the money from the table and
ran to hide it, saying as she did so :

" I have no supper for you. One can't feed every
bare-backed drmikard who comes along."

92 That whereby Men Live

" Now then, Matrena, hold your tongue. You
should give people a chance to explain."

" How much sense is one likely to hear from a
drunken fool indeed? It was not for nothing that I
never wanted to marry a tipsy brute like you! My
mother gave me some linen — and 3'ou drank it away !
You go out to buy a sheepskin — and you drink that
away too! "

Simon tried hard to explain to his wife that he had
only drunk away twenty copecks, as well as to tell her
where he had found the stranger, but she would hardly
let him get a single word in, interrupting him at every
third one, and even raking up sores fully ten years old.

On and on she went, until finally she leapt upon him
and seized him by the sleeve.

" Give me my jacket! " she cried. " It is the only
one I have, yet you sneaked it this morning to wear
yourself! Give it to me, I say, you tow-stuffed cur!
May you die of a fit some day! "

Simon hastened to take the jacket off, turning the
sleeves inside out as he did so, but since his wife held
onto it all the tune, the result was that its seams split
open. Seizing it and throwing it over her head,
Matrena made for the door, and was just about to
leave the room, when she stopped. The truth was
that her heart was relenting, and she wanted both to
subdue her temper and to learn who the man was.

IV

She stopped, therefore, and said:

" If the man was honest, he would not have been
going about with never a shirt to his back; and if you
yourself had been up to any good to-day you would
have told me at once where you j)icked up this dandy
of yours."

" Very well, I will tell you now," answered Simon.
" As I was passing the chapel I found this man lying
naked and frozen. It is not summer-time now, you

That whereby Men Live 93

must remember, that a man should go naked. God
led me to him, else he must have perished. Well,
what could I do? Such things do not happen for
nothing. I took him, clothed him, and brought him
here. That is all. Calm your temper, Matrena, for
to give way to it is sinful. Remember that we must
all of us die some day."

Matrena was about to burst out scolding again,
when she glanced at the stranger and remained sUent.
He was sitting there, quite motionless, on the extreme
edge of the bench, with his hands clasped upon his
knees, his head sunk upon his breast, his eyes closed,
and his face lined and contorted as though something
were stiflmg him.

" Matrena," went on Simon, " is there nothing of
God within you? "

As she heard these words she threw another glance
at the stranger, and her heart suddenly contracted
with pity. She turned back from the door, went to
the stove, and drew out thence some supper. She
set a tea-pot on the table, poured out some kvas,^
produced their last piece of bread, and furnished the
two men with a knife and spoon apiece.

" Eat away," she said.

Simon nudged the stranger. " Draw up nearer,"
he urged him. Then he cut some bread, divided it
up, and they began supper. But Matrena sat by the
corner of the table, her head upon her hand, and gazed
at the stranger.

She felt sorry for him, as well as attracted towards
him; and when suddenly his face cleared and the
lines vanished from his brow as he raised his eyes to
hers and smiled, her heart leapt within her.

After supper she washed up the things, and then
began to question him.

" WTiere do you come from? " she asked.

" From somewhere else than here."

" Then how came you to fall by the wayside? "

" I cannot say."

' A liquor made of rye-meal and rye-malt.

94 That whereby Men Live

" Who was it took 3mur clothes from you? "

" God was punishing me."

" But you were lying there naked? "

" Yes, I was lying there naked and frozen, when
Simon saw me and had compassion upon me. He
took off his kaftan and put it upon my shoulders, and
bid me come with him hither. And here you have
given me food and drink, and have shown me kind-
ness. May God do so unto you also! "

Matrena rose, took from the window-sill an old
shirt of Simon's — the same one which she had been
sewing — and gave it to the stranger. She also found
trousers, and these too she gave him.

" Here," she said; " I see that you have no shirt.
Put these on, and then go to rest where you like —
whether on the bench or on the stove."

The stranger stripped himself of the kaftan, put on
the shirt and trousers, and lay down upon the bench.
Matrena extinguished the light, took the kaftan, and
went to her husband.

She covered herself over with the skirts of the
kaftan and lay down, but not to sleep, for the stranger
would not leave her thoughts. When she remembered
that he had eaten their last crust, and that there was
none left for to-morrow, as also that she had given
away the shirt and trousers, she felt vexed : but when
she remembered likewise the stranger's smile her heart
leapt within her.

For a long time she could not sleep, but lay listen-
ing. Simon also could not sleep, and kept drawing
the kaftan over him.

"Simon!"

" Yes? "

" You have eaten our last piece of bread, and I have
no more made. What we shall do to-morrow I don't
know. I must beg some of neighbour Malania."

" Oh, but we shall manage to live and have enough,"
said Simon.

For a little while after this his wi'e lay without
speaking.

That whereby Men Live 95

" He seems a very fine young fellcw." she said at
last; "only, why does he tell us noth'ng about
himself?"

" He cannot I suppose."

"Simon!"

"Eh?"

" We give things away, but why does no one give
to us?"

Simon was at a los> for an answer, but, remarking,
" W^e can talk of that another time," turned over and
went to sleep.

In the morning Simon awoke. The children were
still asleep, and his wife had gone out to borrow some
bread of the neighbours. The stranger of yesterday
was sitting alone on the bench, dressed in the old
shirt and trousers, and his face turned upwards. And
that face was even brighter than it had been the night
before.

So Simon said to him :

" Well, my good friend? The stomach craves for
bread, and the body for raiment. One must earn
both. Do you know any trade ? "

" No, none," replied the stranger.

Simon was rather surprised at this, and said :

" But you would try, would you not? Men can
learn anything if they wish."

" Yes, men work, and so also will I."

" What is your name, then? "

" Michael."

" Well, Michael, you do not tell us anything about
yourself, and that is your own affair, but we must
earn our living. If you work as I will teach you we
will feed you."

"The Lord be good to you! I will learn. Only
show me how."

So Simon took a straight wax-end, twined it on his
fingers, and made a knot in it.

96 That whereby Men Live

" The work is not difficult/' he said. " Watch
me."

Michael watched him, then twined the thread on
his own fingers, twisted it round in a moment, and had
made the knot.

Then Simon showed him how to weld, and IMichael
understood the art at once. Next, his master showed
him how to insert a stitch and draw it tight through
the seam, and that too Michael understood im-
mediately.

Whatever Simon taught him Michael learnt readily,
so that by the third day he was able to work as though
he had been a cobbler all his life. He never made
mistakes, and ate but little. Only, at times he Vv'ould
rest for a moment and look silently upwards. He
never went out of doors, never spoke of his own
affairs, and never jested or laughed.

Indeed, the onlj/ time he had been seen to smile
was on that first evening when Matrena had got him
ready the supper.

VI

Day by day, and week by week, a year crept round,
while Michael still lived with Simon and worked for
him. It was spread abroad of Simon's workman that
no one could sew boots so neatly and so strongly as he,
and people had begun to come to Simon for boots
from all the district round, so that his means in-
creased.

One winter's day Simon and Michael were sitting
working together when there came driving towards
the hut a three-horsed coach-sledge, gay with bells.
The two shoemakers looked through the window,
and saw that the sledge had stopped opposite the hut,
and that a footman had leapt from the box and was
opening the door. Then a gentleman in a fur coat
stepped out of the vehicle, approached Simon's dwell-
ing, and mounted the steps. Matrena ran to meet
him, and oi)cned the door wide. The gentleman

That whereby Men Live 97

bowed his head, entered the hut, and straightened
himself up again, although his head nearly touched
the ceiling and he fihed a whole corner of the room.

Simon rose, saluted him, and was astonished at the
great man. He seldom saw such people there, for he
himself was brown in the face, Michael thin, and
Matrena as wizened as a chip of wood. But this man
came of another world altogether, with his ruddy,
bibulous coimtenance, neck like a bull's, and figure
of cast-iron. The gentleman breathed hard, took
off his fur coat, sat down upon the bench, and said:

" Which of you is the master bootmaker.^ "

Simon stepped forward, saying:

" I am, your honour."

Thereupon the gentleman shouted to his footman:

" Hi, Thedka! ' Bring me the stuff here."

The footman entered with a parcel, which the
gentleman took and laid upon the table.

" Untie it," he said.

The footman did so, whereupon the gentleman
tapped the leather which it contained with liis finger,
and said to Simon :

"Look here, bootmaker. Do you see this?"

" Yes, your nobility," answered Simon.

" And do you know what it is? "

Simon fingered it a moment and replied:

" It is good leather."

"'Good leather' indeed!" cried the gentleman.
" You blockhead, j-ou have never seen such leather
in your life before. It is of German make, and cost
twenty roubles."

Simon was a little intimidated by this, and said:

" Ah, well, what chance do we ever get to see such
leather?"

" Well, well. But could you make me a pair of
boots out of it? "

" Possibly so, your honour."

" ' Possibly so ' ! But you must clearly understand
what you are going to work upon and what you are

' A diminutive of Thi-odor
H

98 That whereby Men Live

going to make of it. I want a pair of boots which
would last a year, would never tread over, and never
split at the seams. If you can make me such boots,
then set to work and cut out the stuff at once; but
if you cannot, then do neither of those things. I tell
you beforehand that if the new pair should split or
tread over before a year is out, I will clap you in prison ;
but if they should not do so, then I will pay you ten
roubles for your work."

Simon hesitated, and knew not what to say. He
looked at Michael, nudged him with his elbow, and
whispered :

" What do you think about it, brother? "

For answer Michael nodded, as much as to say:
" Yes, take the work."

So Simon obeyed Michael, and undertook to make
a pair of boots which would not tread over or split
within a year.

Then the gentleman called the footman once more,
ordered him to take off his left boot for him, and
stretched out his foot.

" Take my measure," he said.

Simon sewed together a strip of paper about ten
vershoks ' long and looked at it. Then he knelt down,
wiped his hand carefully on his apron so as not to soil
the gentleman's sock, and started to measure. First
he measured the sole, and then the instep. Next, he
was going on to measure the calf, but the strip of
paper would not go round it, for the muscle of the
gentleman's leg was as thick as a beam.

" Take care you don't make them too tight in the
leg," remarked the great man.

So Simon sewed together another strip, while the
gentleman sat and WTiggled his toes about in his sock
and the people in the hut gazed at him. Pi'esently
he caught sight of Michael.

" Who is this 5'ou have with you? " he asked.

" That is my skilled workman, who will sew your
boots."

' The vershok= 1.6S inches.

That whereby Men Live 99

" Look you, then," said the gentleman to Michael,
" and remember this — that you are to sew them so
that they will last a year."

Simon glanced at Michael, and saw that he was
not so much as looking at the gentleman, but staring
into the corner behind him, as though gazing at
someone. Michael gazed and gazed, until suddenly his
face broke out into a smile and he brightened all
over.

" What are you grinning at, you fool? " inquired
the gentleman. " You had better see to it that the
boots are ready when I want them."

To which ^iichael replied: " They shall be ready
whenever wanted."

" Very well."

The gentleman put his boot on again, then his fur
coat, buttoned himself up, and moved tov/ards the
door; but as he forgot to bend his head do\Mi he
bumped it heavily against the lintel. He swore
violently and rubbed his pate, then got into the sledge,
and drove away.

"What a flint-stone!" remarked Simon. "He
nearly knocked the lintel out of place with his head,
yet he hardly cared! "

" How could he not get hardened with the life he
leads? " replied Matrena. " Even death itself could
not take such an iron rivet of a man."

VII

" Well, we have undertaken the work now," con-
tinued Simon to Michael, " and we must take care not
to go amiss over it. This leather is valuable stuff,
and the gentleman is short-tempered. No, there
must be no mistakes. You have the sharper eyes,
as well as the greater skill now in your fingers, so take
these measures and cut out the stuff, while I finish
sewing those toe-caps."

Michael took the leather obediently, spread it out

100 That whereby Men Live

upon the table, folded it iii two, took a knife, and
began to cut it.

Now, Matrena happened to approach Michael and
catch sight of the way in which he was working. She
was quite astonished at what slie saw, for she was
pretty weU acquainted with the shoe-making art.
In short, she perceived that he was cutting the
leather, not into the ordinary boot shape, but into
rounded pieces.

She felt inclmed to say something, but thought
to herself: " It must be that I do not understand how
gentlemen's boots ought to be made. l\Iichae] must
know better than I do, so I won't interfere."

When Michael had finished cutting out the two
shapes, he took thread and began sewing them up,
not in boot fashion, at the two ends, but at one end
only, as they sew hosoviki.^

Matrena was surprised the more at this, j^et still
she did not interfere, and Michael went on sewing
until the dinner-hour. Then Simon rose, looked at
Michael — and saw that of the gentleman's leather he
had made a pair of hosoviki !

Simon groaned. " How is it," he thought, " that
]\Iichael has lived with me for a whole year without
making a mistake, and now has made such a mistake
as this? The gentleman ordered heavy-soled boots,
but Michael has gone and made a pair of soleless
hosoviki, and spoilt the leather. How shall I ever
settle things with the gentleman? One cannot get
such leather as that every day."

Then he said aloud to Michael:

" My good fellow, what have you done? You have
simj)ly ruined me. The gentleman ordered boots,
but what have you gone and made instead? "

And he was just about to give Michael a rating for
it when there came a clatter at the door-ring, and
somebody knocked. They looked through the
window, and saw that a man had arrived on horse-
back and was tying up his horse; and when, pre-

' Shoes put on the feet of a corpse.

That whereby Men Live loi

sently, the door was opened there entered the footman
of the very gentleman himself.

" Good day to you," he said.

" Good day. What can v/e do for you? "

" My mistress has sent me about the boots.'

" Yes. What about them? "

" This indeed — that my master will not want them
now. lie has been dead some time."

" What do you say? "

" Nay, but 'tis true. He died in the sledge on the
way home from your hut. The sledge had reached
home, and we were just going to help him to alight,
when Vv'c saw that he had slipped to the l^oor like a
meal-bag and breathed his last. There he lay dead,
and it was only with great difficulty that we lifted
him out. Then my mistress sent for m^e and said:
* Go and tell the bootmaker that the gentleman who
called to order the boots and left the material for
them will not need them now, but that the boot-
maker is to use the material to make a pair of bosovihi
for the corpse, and to make them as quickly as he
can. Wait until they are made, and bring ihem back
with you.' So I came here at once."

Michael gathered up the cuttings of leather from
the table, and rolled them into a coil. Then he took
the bosovihi which were lying ready, rapped them one
against the other, wiped them with his apron, and
gave them to the footman. The latter took them

" Good day, my masters," he said, " and good luck
to you."

VIII

Another year passed, and again two more, until
Michael was now completing his sixth with Simon.
He still lived as of old. He never went out, never
spoke of himself, and had smiled twice only since he
came — namely, when the goodwife had given him
supper on his first arrival, and when the rich gentle-
man had been there. Simon was well pleased with his

102 That whereby Men Live

workman, and had never returned to the subject of
where he came from. Indeed, his chief fear was lest
he should go away again.

One day they were all of them sitting together at
home. The goodwife was soldering iron on the stove,
while the children were running about over the benches
and peeping out of the windows. Near one of the
latter Simon was seam-drav.ing, and, near the other,
Mxhael nailing a heel onto a boot.

The little boy came running along the bench to
Michael, leant over hi> shoulder, and looked out of
the window.

" Uncle Michael," he cried, " just look! There is a
lady and two little girls coming to our hut, and one
o'.' the little girls is lame! "

As soon as the little boj' said this Michael threw
dowm his work, turned to the window, and looked
into the roadway.

Simon was surprised at this. As a rule, Michael
never looked out, yet now he was glued to the window
and gazing intently at something. Simon too looked
out, and saw a lady making straight for the forecourt.
She v/as well dressed, and was leading her two
little girls clad in fur jackets, with shawls over their
heads. These little girls were so exactly alike that it
would have been difiicult to distinguish the one from
the other, but for the fact that one of them had some-
thing amiss with her left leg, and walked with a limp.

The lady ascended the step ; to the porch, fumbled
at the door, turned the handle, and entered. Then,
pushing the little girls in front of her, she walked
forward into the hut.

" Good day to you, mistress," she said.

" Pray excuse us, madam. What can we do for you?"

The lady sat down by the table, while the little
girls pressed close to her knee, and the occupants of the
hut gazed at them with curiosity.

" I want a pair of bashmaki ' made for each of these
little girls to wear in the spring," said the lady.

' Women's boots.

That whereby Men Live 103

" Very well, madam. We have never made such
small sizes before, but it could be done. You could
have the boots either leather throughout or lined with
linen. Here is Michael, my skilled workman."

As Simon glanced at Michael he saw that he had
thrown his work dowTi and was sitting with his eyes
fixed upon the little girls. Simon was astonished.
True, they made a pretty spectacle, with their black
eyes, round, rosy cheeks, and smart little shawls and
jackets, yet he could not understand why Michael
looked at them somehow as if he knew them. How-
ever, Simon went on talking to the lady and arranging
terms. The latter duly settled, he set about stitching
together a paper measure, while the lady lifted the
lame little girl onto her knee and said :

" Take both the sets of measures from this little
girl, and make one haslimak for her crooked foot and
three ordinary ones. The two children take exactly
the same size, for they are twins."

Simon took the measures, and then asked concern-
ing the little girl :

" How comes she to be lame? She is such a pretty
little lady! Was she born so? "

" No, she was overlaid by her mother."

Matrena, who had stepped closer in the hope of
finding out who the lady and children were, put in :

" Then you are not their mother? "

" No, good mistress. In fact, they are no relation
of mine at all, only adopted children."

" You are not their mother! Yet you seem very
fond of them? "

" How could I not be fond of them? I suckled
them both. I had a chiJd of my own once, bui God
took it unto Himself. Yet I was not so fond of it as
I am of them."

" And whose are they? "

104 That whereby Men Live

IX

Then the lady unbosomed herself, and related as
follows :

" Six years a£^o it befell that these tv/o little girls
lost both their father and their mother in the same
week. The father was buried on the Tuesday, and
the mother died on the following Friday. Yes, they
were left fatherless for three daj's, and on the third
day their mother died also. At that time I and my
husband were living in a country place where they
and ourselves were neighbours and our 3'ards adjoined.
The father of these children — a peasant — was a single
man, and worked as a forester. One day a tree was
being cut down, when it fell upon him, and crushed
out his very vitals. He was carried home, but died
immediately, and the woman who had lived with him
was delivered the same week of twins — of these two
little ones here. Poverty, loneliness — that was what
they were born to, for the mother had no woman, old
or young, to attend upon her. She was alone when
she was brought to bed, and alone too when she died.

" Next morning I chanced to go to pay her a
neighbourly visit, and when I entered the hut I saw
that the poor woman was already stiff and cold, and
that in her death agony she had overlaid one of the
little girls — had crushed her and bent her foot crooked.
Well, I sent for help, and they washed the corpse and
laid it out ; then made a coffin, and buried 'ner. They
were kind-hearted people, in spite of the woman
having been neither wife nor maid. But now that
the little girls were left orphans, which of us was to
take them? I alone of our women was then suckling
a child — had been suckling my first little one, a boy,
for eight weeks past. So for the time being I took
charge of the twins also, after the jx^asants had de-
bated together as to what should be done with them
and said to me, ' Do you keep them for the present,
Maria, and that will give us time to settle something.'

That whereby Men Live 105

I began by suckling the uninjured child only, since
I did not expect the other one to live. Tlien I thought
to mj'self : ' Why should this little one's angel spirit
be left to fade away? ' So, filled with compassion for
it also, I nurtured the two as I did my own child — all
three of them at the same breast. I was 3'oung and
strong and able to suckle well, for God had filled my
breasts to overflowing. I vrould feed two of them at
once, while the third lay waiting. Then one of them
would be satisfied, and I would take the third one to
my breast. Yet God ordained that, although I
should nourish these two children to childhood, I should
bury my own little one within its second year; and
God has never given me another one. In time my
means increased, and now I am lodging at the mill
here with the miller. I have a good income and live
comfortably, but, alas! I have no children of my own.
How, then, I could ever bear to live alone without
these little ones, or how I could ever rest without
them to love and care for, I cannot think ! They are
to me as wax is to the candle," — and the lady drew
the lame child to her with the one hand as with the
other she wiped the tears from her cheeks. " Of a
surety," she added, " it is a true saying which says:
' Without father or mother we may live, but without
God — never.' "

Thus they talked for a while among themselves,
after which the lady rose to depart. Her hosts sav/
her to the door, and then glanced at Michael. He
was sitting with his hands folded upon his knees as
he gazed intently upwards and smiled.

Simon approached him. " What is it, Michael? " he
said.

Michael rose from the bench, laid aside his work,
took off his apron, and bowed to the master and his
wife.

io6 That whereby Men Live

" Pardon me, good master and mistress," he said.
" God has pardoned me. Do you also pardon me? "

Then Simon and his wife saw that hght was pro-
ceeding from Michael. Simon bowed low before him
in his turn, and said:

" Michael, I see that you are more than simple man,
and that I may not detain or question you. Only
tell me one thing. Why is it that when I first found
you and brought you home you were downcast of
countenance, but smiled immediately that my wife
offered you supper, and became tlienceforth brighter?
Again, why did you smile the second time when the
gentleman was ordering the boots, and became even
brighter than before? And lastly, why did j'ou smile
the third time and become bright all over when the
lady brought the little girls hither? Tell me, Michael,
why you smiled those three times, and why this light
is shining from you now? "

Then ^lichael answered him :

" This light is shining from me now because I have
been punished and God has pardoned me again.
And I smiled those three times because it was laid upon
me that I should learn three words of God, and those
three words I have now learnt. The first word I learnt
when your wife had compassion upon me. That is
why I smiled the first time. The second word I
learnt when the rich man was ordering the boots.
That is why I smiled the second time. And the third
and last word I learnt just now when I beheld the
little girls. That is why I smiled the third time."

Then Simon said :

" Tell me also, Michael, why God punished you,
and what those three words of God may be, that I
too may learn them? "

And Michael answered:

" God punished me because I disobeyed Him. I
was an angel in Heaven, and disobeyed God. He
sent me down to earth to bear away a woman's soul.
To earth I flew, and there saw the woman lying sick
and but just delivered of twins — of two little girls.

That whereby Men Live 107

The children were stirring beside their mother, yet
she could not put them to her breasts. Then she
saw me, and understood that God had sent me to
fetch away her soul. Weeping, she cried out : ' Angel of
God, they have just buried my husband, who was
killed by a tree in the forest. I have neither sister
nor aunt nor grandmother, so that there is no one to
bring up my little ones. Do not take away my soul,
but leave me to suckle my children, and to rear them,
and to set them on their feet. Little children cannot
live without either father or mother.' So I
hearkened to the mother, laid one child upon her
breast, gave the other one into her arms, and as-
cended again to God in Heaven. I f^ew to God and
said: ' I could not take away the soul from that
childing mother. The father has been killed by a tree,
and the mother has just been delivered of tv/ins. She
besought me not to take away her soul, saying: " Let
me suckle my children, and rear them, and set them
on their feet. Little children cannot live without
father or mother." So I did not take away the
mother's soul.' Then God said to me: 'Go thou
and fetch away the soul of that childing woman, and
thou shalt learn three words. Thou shalt learn both
what that is which dwelleth in men, and v/hat that is
which is not given to men, and what that is whereby
men live. When thou hast learnt these words thou
shalt return to Heaven.' So I flew back to earth,
and took away the soul of the childing woman. The
childv-^n slipped from her breasts, and the dead body
rolled back upon the bed, crushing as it did so one of
the little ones and bending aside the little one's foot.
Then I rose above the village, and tried to bear the
soul to God, but a wind caught me, so that my wings
hung down and were blown from me, and the soul
returned alone to Him, while 1 myself fell to earth
again by the roadside.''"

io8 That whereby Men Live

XI

Now that Simon and Matrcna understood at last
whom it was that they had clothed and fed and taken
in, they wept both with fear and with joy. But the
angel went on:

" Thus I was left naked and alone in the open
fields. Never before had I known human need,
never before had I known cold or hunger; j'et now
I had become a man. I was freezing and hungry,
and knew not what to do. Then I saw by the road-
side a chapel built for God, and approached God's
building, hoping to take refuge there; but it was
barred and locked, and I could not enter. Then I
sat down behind it, to shield myself from the wind.
Evening came, and I felt cold and hungry, and in
pain all over. Suddenly I listened. A man was
coming along the road, carrying a pair of boots in his
hand, and talking to himself. Then for the first
time since I became a man I saw a deathlike human
face, and that face seemed to me horrible, and I
turned from it. But as I did so I heard this man
talking to himself concerning how he should protect
his body from the winter's cold and feed his wife and
children, and I thought to myself: ' Here am I perish-
ing of cold and hunger, while here at the same moment
is this man thinking of how he shall clothe his wife
and himself in sheepskin and feed himself and his
family with bread! Surely I may look for help from
him? ' The man caught sight of me, knit his brows —
becoming still more horrible as he did so — and passed
on. I v/as in despair. Suddenly, however, I heard
him returning. I jieered forth, and could scarcely
recognize him as the same. In his face, before,
there had been death, but now the face had come
suddenly to life; and in that face I saw God. The
man came to me, clothed me, took me away with him,
and conducted me to his home. As I entered his
house there came out to meet us a woman, and she

That whereby Men Live 109

began to speak. The woman seemed to me even more
dreadful than the man. The breath from lier mouth
was as that of a corpse, and I W3S weil-nigh choked
with the odour of death. She wished to cast me into
the cold again, yet I knew that she \vould die if she
did so. Then all at once her husband reminded her
of God, and in a moment she became changed; so
that when she had given us supper, and was sitting
gazing upon me, 1 gazed at lier in return — and, be-
hold! there was no longer death in her face, but life;
and in her I recognized God.

" Then I remembered the first word of God —
' Thou shalt learn what that is which dwelleth in
men.' And I knew that the thing which dwelleth
in men is Love, and felt glad that God had seen fit to
reveal to me that which He had promised; so that I
smiled for the first time. But I had not j'et learnt
all. I had still to learn what tliat is which is not
given to men, and what that is whereby men live.

" So I came to dwell with you, and had so dwelt
for a year, when there entered hither a man to order
boots — boots such as might last for a year with-
out treading over or splitting. As I gazed at him,
suddenly I saw standing behind his shoulders my
comrade the Angel of Death. No one but I sav/ that
Angel, yet 1 l:new him, and knew also that the sun
would not have set before the soul of this rich man
would be required of him. And I thought to myself:
* Here is this man making provision for a year hence,
though knowing not, all the time, that he has not so
much as until nightfall to live.' Then I remembered
the second word of God — ' Thou shalt learn what that
is which is not given to men.'

" Already I had learnt what that is which dwelleth
in men. Now also I had learnt what that is which is
not given to men : for it is not given to men to know
what is necessary for their bodies. Then I smiled
the second time. I rejoiced that I had seen my
comrade angel, and that God had revealed to me His
second word.

no That whereby Men Live

" Yet I had not learnt all. I had still to learn
what that is whereby men live. So I lived on, and
waited for the time v/hen God should reveal to me His
last word. And during my sixth year with you there
came hither a woman with twin girls, and I recog-
nized the little girls, and knew that they had been
preserved alive. As I recognized them I thought to
myself: 'The mother besought me for her children,
and I hearkened to her, thinking that without father
or mother the little ones v/ould die: yet this woman,
a stranger, has fed and reared them.' And when I
saw the woman moved to pity for the children and
shedding tears over them I recognized in her the living
God, and understood what that is whereby men live.
I knew that God had revealed to me His third and last
word — and had pardoned me. Then for the third
time I smiled."

XII

Suddenly the Angel's form became stripped of
clothing, and robed wholly in light, so that the eye
could not bear to look upon him, while his voice be-
came more resonant, as though it were proceeding,
not from his own mouth, but from Heaven itself.
And the Angel said:

" Yes, I learnt that every man lives, not by taking
thought for himself, but by Love.

" It was not given to the childing woman to know
what was needful for the preservation of her children's
lives. It was not given to the rich man to know what
was needful for his body. Nor is it given unto any
man to know whether, before the sun shall have set,
it may be boots for his living body or bosoviki for his
corpse that he shall require.

" When I was a man, my life was preserved to me,
not by taking thought for myself, but by the love
which dwelt in a passer-by and his wife, so that they
could feel for me pity and affection. Again, the two
orphans were preserved alive, not by any thought which

That whereby Men Live 1 1 1

was taken for them, but by the love which dwelt in
the heart of a strange woman, so that she could feel
for them pity and affection. For, indeed, all men
live, not by the thought which they may take for
themselves, but by the love which dwells in all man-
kind.

" I had known before that God gave life to men,
and that He would have them hve; but now I under-
stood another thing.

" I understood that God would not have men live
apart from one another — wherefore He had not re-
vealed to them what was needful for each one: but
that He would have them hve in unity — wherefore
He had revealed to them only what was needful both
for themselves and for their fellows together.

" Yes, at last I understood that men only appear
to live by taking thought for themselves, but that in
reality they live by Love alone. Pie that dwelleth
in Love dwelleth in God, and God in him: for God is
love."

Then the Angel sang a hymn of praise to God, and
the hut trembled at the sound of his voice, while the
roof parted in the middle, and a pillar of fire shot up
from earth to Heaven. Simon and his wife and
children fell down upon their faces in adoration, and
as they did so wings burst forth from the Angel's
back, and he soared away into the sky.

When Simon opened his eyes again, the hut was
as it had been before, and there was no one there but
his own household.

ELIAS

In the Province of Oufa there lived a Boshkir named
Elias. His father died a year after he had procured
his son a vife, and left him a poor man. At that time
Elias's property consisted only of seven mares, two
cows, and tv»-enty sheep, but nov/ that he had become
master he began to better himself. He and his wife
worked hard from morning till night — rising earlier,
and resting later, than any of their neighbours, and
growing richer each year. For thirty-five years
Elias lived this life of toil, and amassed a considerable
fortune.

That fortune consisted of two hundred horses, a
hundred and fifty head of cattle, and twelve hundred
sheep. He had men to look after the droves of horses
and the herds of cattle and sheep, and women to milk
the mares and cows and to make kioniss,^ butter, and
cheese. Indeed, he had much of everything, and
everyone in the countr^'side envied him his lot.
People said: " Elias must be a happy man. He
has everything in abundance, and has no reason to
desire death." The gentry sought liis acquaintance,
and cultivated it when made. Guests came from
long distances to visit him, and each and all he re-
ceived and entertained with food and drink. For
everyone who arrived he would have ktimiss, tea,
sherbet, and mutton prepared. No sooner had a
guest appeared than a sheep or two would be killed,
or, if the guests were many, a mare.

The children of Elias numbered two sons and a
daughter, all of whom he duly married off. In the
days of his poverty his sons had worked with him, an I
themselves tended the droves and herds; but when
they became rich, they began to indulge in dissipation,
and one of them, in particular, to drink to excess.
Eventually the eldest of the two was killed in a brawl,

' A liquor made from mare's milk.
I 12

Elias 113

and the other one (who had fallen under the thumb
of an upstart wife) became disobedient to his father,
and was turned out in consequence.

Elias turned him out, but at the same time allotted
him a house and cattle, so that his own wealth became
diminished in proportion.

Soon afterwards his sheep became infected with
disease, and numbers of them died. Next, there
came a year of drought, when no hay grew, so that
many cattle were starved during the following wdnter.
Then the Khirgizes came and stole the best of his
horses, and his property became diminished yet
further. Lower and lower he sank, and his persever-
ance also; so that, by the time he had reached his
seventieth year, he had been reduced to selling his
sheepskin coats, his carpets, saddles, tilt-carts, and,
eventually, his last remaining cattle, and had arrived
at absolute penury. Then, when he saw that he had
nothing left, he and his wife went to spend their de-
clining years among strangers. All the property now
left to him consisted of the clothes on his body (a
sheepskin coat, a cap, a pair of breeches, and boots)
and his wife. Sham Shemagi, who was as old as him-
self. The son whom he had turned out had gone to
a distant land, and his daughter was dead; so that
there was no one left to help the old people.

Yet a former neighbour of theirs, named Muhamed-
shah, felt sorry for them. He was neither rich nor
poor, but lived plainly and was a respectable man.
Remembering the days when he had partaken of
bread and salt in the house of Elias, he felt his heart
smite him, and said: " Come and live with me,
Elias, and bring the old woman with you. In the
summer you can do such work for me in the melon
fields as you feel lit for, and in the winter you can tend
my cattle, while Sham Shemagi can milk the mares
and make kioniss. I v/ill feed and clothe you both,
and if you should need anything else you will merely
have to tell me, and I will give it you." Elias thanked
his good neighbour, and went with his old wife to live
I

114 Elias

in the service of Muhamedsbah. At first it grieved
them to do so, but in time they got used to it, and
settled down to live there and to work as far as their
strength permitted.

It suited their master to have them in his ser\'ice,
since the old people had been in authority themselves,
and so knew how to do things. I\Ioreover, they were
never laz\^ but worked the best they knew. Yet
Muhamedsbah used to feel sorry to see people formerly
so high in the world now reduced to such a pass.

It happened once that some of Muhamedshah's
relations came to visit him — people who lived in a
distant spot — and with them a certain mullah.'
Muhamedsbah bid Elias catch and kill a sheep; which,
duly slaughtered and skinned, Elias cooked, and sent
in to dinner. The guests ate of the mutton, drank
tea and passed on to kumiss. While they were sitting
with their host on carpets and padded cushions as they
drank cups of kumiss and conversed together, Elias
happened to pass the door in the course of his duties.
Muhamedsbah saw him, and said to one of the guests:
" Did you see that old man who passed the door just
now?" "Yes," replied the guest; "but what of
him? " " Well, this — that his name is Elias, and that
once upon a time he was our richest man about here.
Perhaps 3'ou have heard of him? " " Heard of him? "
exclaimed the guest. " Yes, certainl}' I have, but
this is the first time I have ever seen him, although
his fame used to be widespread." " Well, now the
old man has nothing at all, but I keep him on as my
servant, and his old wife lives with him, and milks
the cows."

The guest clicked his tongue, shook his head, and
evinced much surprise. Then he said: "Verily
fortune is like a wheel turning. It lifts up one man,
and sets down another. Does the old man grieve
about his plight? " " Wlio knows? He lives cjuietly
and peaceabl}^ and does his work well." " Might I,
then, speak to him? " inquired the guest. " I should

' Mahomedan priest.

Elias 115

like to ask him about his former life." " Certainly,"
replied the host, and called behind the door-curtain:
" Babai! " (which means " Diediushka " ' in the Bash-
kir language), " come in and have some kumiss, and
call 5'our wife also." So Elias and his wife entered,
and, having greeted the guests and their master, the
old man said a grace and knelt down by the door,
while his wife went behind the curtain where her
mistress was sitting, and seated herself beside her.

Elias was offered a cup of kuiniss, whereupon he
wished the guests and his master good health, bowed
to them, drank a little of the kumiss, and set the cup
down.

" Old man," said the guest, " tell me whether it
grieves you — now as you look upon us — to remember
your former fortunes and your present life of misery? "

Elias smiled and answered: " If I were to speak
to you of our happiness or misery you might not be-
lieve me. You should rather ask my wife. She has
both a woman's heart and a woman's tongue, and will
tell you the whole truth about that matter."

Then the guest called to the old woman behind the
curtain: " Tell me, old woman, what you think con-
cerning your former happiness and your present
misery."

And Sham Shemagi answered from behind the
curtain: "This is what I think concerning them.
I lived with my husband for fifty yeetrs— seeking happi-
ness, and never finding it; but now, although we live
as servants, and this is only the second year since we
were left destitute, we have found true happiness,
and desire no other."

Both the guests and their host were surprised at
this — the latter, indeed, so much so that he rose to
his feet to draw aside the curtain and look at the old
woman. There she stood — her hands folded in front
of her, and a smile upon her face, as she gazed at her
old husband and he smiled back at her in return.
Then she went on: "I am but telling you the tnith,

' Good little i^randfather.

ii6 Elias

not jesting. For half a century we sought happiness,
and never found it so long as we were rich; yet now
that we have nothing — now that we have come to live
among humble folk — we have found such happiness
as could never be exceeded."

" Wherein, then, does your happiness lie? " asked
the guest.

" In this — that so long as we were rich I and m}?
husband never knew an hour's peace in which we could
either talk to one another, or think about our souls,
or pray to God. We had too many cares for that.
If guests were with us we were fully occupied in think-
ing how to entertain them and what to give them so
that they would not scorn us. Moreover, when gueste
had arrived we had their servants to look to — to see
that they should not compare their board and lodging
with that given them elsewhere, and compare it to our
disadvantage, while at the same time we had to watch
that they did not consume our entire substance — an
act of sin on our part. Then again, there would be
constant worries lest a wolf should kill one of our foals
or calves, or thieves drive off the horses. If we lay
down to sleep we could not do so for thinking that
the ewes might overlay their lambs. Half the night
we would be up and doing, and then, when we retired
to rest once more, we would find ourselves beset with
fresh anxieties as to how to procure fodder for the
winter, and so on. Sloreover, my husband and I
could never agree together. He would say that a
thing must be done in tJiis way, and I that it must be
done in that ; and so we would begin to quarrel, and
thus commit another act of sin. The life led us only
from worry to worry, from sin to sin, but never to
happiness."

" But how is it now? " asked the guest.

" Now," replied the old woman, " when I and my
husband rise in the morning, we always greet each
other in love and harmony. We quarrel over nothing,
and are anxious about nothing. Our only care is how
best to sei-ve the master. We work according to our

Elias 117

strength, and with a good will, so that the master
shall suffer no loss, but on the contrary acquire gain.
Then, when we come in, we find dinner, supper, and
kumiss ready for us. Whenever it is cold we have
fuel' to warm us and sheepskin coats to wear. More-
over, we have time to talk to one another, to think
about our souls, and to pray to God. For fifty years
we sought happiness — but only now have we found
it."

The guests burst out laughing, but Ehas cried:

" Do not laugh, good sirs. This is no jest, but
human life. Once I and my wife were gross of heart
and wept because we had lost our riches, but now God
has revealed unto us the truth, and we reveal it unto
3^ou again — not for our own diversion, but for your
good."

To v/hich the mullah added: " That is a wise say-
ing, and Elias has spoken the truth — a truth which
is found set down in Holy Writ."

Then the guests ceased to make merry, and became
thoughtful.

' In this case made of dried cow-duntr.

CHILDREN MAY BE WISER THAN THEIR
ELDERS

Holy Week fell early. Sledging was only just over,
and snow still lay in the shelter of the courtj^ards, or,
melting, ran in rivulets down the village street. A
large pool had oozed from beneath the slush, and col-
lected in an alley-way between two yards. From
those yards there hied them to this pool a couple of
little girls — an elder and a younger. Their mothers
had just dressed them in brand-new frocks (the
younger one in a blue frock, and the elder in a yellow,
embroidered one), and tied red handkerchiefs over
their heads. The pair issued forth after dinner, and
betook them to the side of the pool, where they first
of all showed each other their fine clothes, and then
fell to playing. They thought they would like to
wade across the pool, and accordingly the 3'ounger
one started to do so, shoes and all. The elder one,
however, cried: " Don't go in like that, Molasha,
or your mother will scold you. Take off 3^our shoes
first, and 1 will do the same." So they took off their
shoes, tucked up their frocks, and waded across the
pool from opposite sides. Malasha went in over her
ankles, and called out: " It is so deep, Akulka dear.
I am afraid." " No, no," replied the other, " it can't
get any deeper. Come straight across to me." So
they drew nearer. Then Akulka said: "Mind,
Malasha, and don't splash me. Go gently." The
words were hardly out of her mouth when Malasha
gave a stamp with her foot, and splashed the water
straight onto Akulka's frock. It was splashed all
over, and so were her eyes and nose. When Akulka
saw the stains on her frock she was very angry with
Malasha, scolded her furiously, and ran towards her
to give her a slap. Malasha, liowever, was frightened
when she saw the damage she had done, and, jumping
out of the pool, ran home. Now, Akulka's mother
118

Children Wiser than their Elders 119

happened to pass that way, and saw her daughter
with her frock aU splashed and her petticoat muddied
over. " How did you manage to get so dirty, you
bad girl? " she asked. " Malasha splashed me. She
did it on purpose," answered her httle daughter.
So Akulka's mother caught Malasha, and spanked
her soundly, so that the street rang with her weeping.
That brought her mother out. " What are you beat-
ing my child for? " she cried angrily to her neighbour,
and the pair began bandying words. The peasants
came out of their huts, and a small crowd collected
in the street. Every one shouted, but no one listened,
as the crowd wrangled and wrangled. At last one
peasant pushed against another one, and a fight was
imminent, when an old woman — Akulka's grand-
mother— appeared on the scene. Running into the
midst of the peasants, she cried protestingly : " Now
then, good people! Is this the way in which this
Holy Week should be spent? You ought all of you
to be giving thanks to God, and not conspiring to sin
like this." But the peasants would not listen to her,
and almost pushed her off her legs. Indeed, she would
never have dissuaded the two peasants from fighting
but for ]\Ialasha and Akulka themselves. While the
women had been quarrelling, Akulka had gone in and
wiped her frock, and then came out again to the pool
in the alley-way. There she picked up a small stone,
and began to dig out the earth by the side of the pool.
While thus engaged, she was joined by Malasha, who
began to help her to dig out a little channel with a
chip of wood. The peasants were just starting to
fight, when the water escaped out of the pool through
the little channel dug by the children, and ran out
into the street to the spot where the old woman v\'as
trying to separate the two peasants. The little girls
came darting out of the alle3'-way, one oa each side
of the tiny stream. " Stop it, Malasha! Stop it! "
cried Akulka. Malasha also was trying to say some-
thing, but could not speak for laughter.

Thus the two little girls came running along, laugh-

120 Children Wiser than their Elders

ing at the chip of wood as it bobbed about in the
rivulet — and ran straight into the midst of the peasants.
As soon as the old woman saw them she cried to the
two disputants: "Have some respect for God!
Here are you gathered together to fight about these
same little girls, yet they themselves have long ago
forgotten the whole matter, and are playing together
again in peace and goodwill. They are wiser than

you."

The two disputants looked at the little girls, and
felt ashamed of themselves, while the other peasants
burst out laughing at their own foil}', and dispersed
to their huts.

" If ye do not become as little children, j'e shall not
enter into the kingdom of Heaven."

LABOUR, DEATH, AND DISEASE

Among the Patagonians there is cuiTent the following
tradition.

At first (it runs God created men so that they had
no need to work, nor to provide themselves with
shelter, clothing, or food. Every man lived to be a
hundred exactly, and was immune from disease.

Time passed on, and when God looked down to see
how mankind was faring, He found that, instead of
rejoicing in their lot, men were thinking only of
themselves, quarrelling with each other, and ordering
their existence in such a way that life was to them
rather a curse than a blessing.

Then God said to Himself: "This comes of their
living apart from one another, each man for him-
self." So, to put an end to that, He made it impossible
for men to live without labour. If they would avoid
suffering from cold and hunger they must build them-
selves dwellings, till the ground, and rear flocks and
herds.

" Labour will unite them," thought God to Him-
self. " No man can hew and draw wood, build
dwellings, forge implements, sow, reap, spin, weave,
or make clothing, alone. Tlierefore men wiU be
forced to recognize that the more they associate in
labour, the more they will produce, and the more
comfortable will their life be. ThLs cannot but unite
them."

Time passed on, and once more God looked down
to see how mankind was faring, and whether it were
now rejoicing in its lot. Yet He found men living
even worse than before. True, they worked together
(they could not do otherwise), but not all together,
for they had divided themselves up into groups, each
of which strove to depute its labour to another, as
well as hindered its fellows, and wasted both time

121

122 Labour, Death, and Disease

and energy in quarrelling. This was bad for all of
them.

Seeing this, God decided to make men ignorant of
the preci-e moment of their death, as well as liable to
die at any age. instead of at a hundred exactly. This
expedient He justified to Himself thus:

" When men know that they may die at any moment
they will be too careful of their lives (hanging, as
those lives will be, by a single thread) to rage against
one ano her and so put in jeopardy those hours of life
which may be allotted them."

Yet things turned out quite otherwise. When God
looked down once more to see how mankind was
faring He found that the life of men had in no way
altered for the better.

Some men were stronger than others, and so were
able to avail themselves of the fact that death might
come at any moment to intim:date those weaker than
themselves, by killing a certain proportion of them
and threatening the rest. Thus an order of life had
arisen in which a certain number of strong men and
their followers did no work at all, but consumed
themselves in idleness, while the weaker were forced
to work beyond their strength, and deteriorated for
want of rest. Each of these two classes feared and
detested the other, and the life of mankind had be-
come more unhappy than ever.

Seeing how things stood, God determined to make
use of the last remedy of all. That is to say. He sent
every kind of disease among men; for He thought
that when they had become subject to disease they
would realize that the healthy man must pity and
assist the sick, so that if he himself fell ill, he too might
receive assistance from the healthy.

Then for a time God left mankind alone; but
when He looked down once more to see liow things
were getting on, He found that from the very moment
when men had been made subject to disease their life
had been growing steadily worse. The diseases
which God had thought would unite them had only

Labour. Death, and Disease 123

served to sunder them more. Those who had been
used to compelHng others to work for them now com-
pelled them also to wait upon them when sick, although
they themselves took no thought whatever for other
sufferers. At the same time, those who were thus
compelled not only to work for others, but also to wait
upon them when sick, Vv'ere so overburdened with
labour that they had no opportunity to attend to
their own sick folk, and so had to leave them helpless.
Moreover, some diseases were recognized to be in-
fectious, so that, dreading the infection, many men
would neither go near the sufferers nor consort with
those who had come in contact with them.

Then God said to Himself:

" Since by these means I have failed to bring men
to understand wherein lies their true happiness, I will
leave them to arrive at that result through their
tribulations."

Thenceforth, therefore, God left mankind alone.

Abandoned to their own devices, men lived for a
long time without understanding the means by which
it was both possible and right for them to live happily.
But at last some of them began to realize that labour
need not of necessity mean, for som^e a means of sub-
jecting their fellows, and for others a kind of penal
servitude, but rather a source of joy, uniting all men
in one. Likewise, they realized that, in face of that
death which threatened every man hourly, the only
prudent course for them was to make up their minds
to spend in concord and love such years, months,
days, hours, cr minutes as might be ordained them.
Lastly, the}' icalized, not only that disease should not
be a source of division among men but that, on the
contrary, it should be a source of loving good-fellow-
ship.

THE GRAIN THAT WAS LH^E AN EGG

Once upon a time some children found, in a ravine,
a little round something that was like an egg; but it
also had a groove down the middle, and so was like
a grain of corn. A passer-by saw this something in
the children's hands, and bought it off them for a
piaiak.^ Then he took it away to town and sold it
to the Tsar as a curiosity.

The Tsar sent for his wise men, and commanded
them to examine the little round something and to
say if it was an egg or a grain of corn. The wise men
pondered and pondered, but could not solve the
problem.

So the little round something was left lying on a
window-sill, and a hen flew in, pecked at the little
round something, and pecked a hole in it; so that
everyone could now see that it was a gxain of corn.
Wherefore the wise men hastened to return and tell
the Tsar that the little round something was nothing
else than a grain of rye.

The Tsar was astonished, and commanded the wise
men to ascertain where and when this grain was
gi'own. So the wise men pondered and pondered,
and searched their books, but could discover nothing.
They returned to the Tsar, therefore, and said: " We
cannot resolve those two questions, for we find nothing
written in our books about them. But let your
Imperial Majesty cause inquiry to le made among
the peasantry, lest hajily any one of them has ever
heard from his elders where and when this grain was
sown."

So the Tsar sent and commanded a very ancient
elder of the peasantry to be brought to him. Such a
one was searched for, and conducted to the Tsar's
presence. The old man was livid and toothless, and
walked with difficulty on crutches.

' A copper coin worth five copecks (i|d.).
124

The Grain that was like an Egg 125

The Tsar showed him the grain, which was unhkc
anything that the old man had ever seen before. In-
deed, he could hardly see it now, but half-examined
it with his eyes, half-felt it with his hands. Then the
Tsar asked him:

" Do you know, good grandfather, where this grain
was grown? Did you j^ourself ever sow similar grain
in your field, or did you ever in your time buy similar
grain? "

The old man was deaf, and heard and understood
only with great difhcuity, so that he was slow in
answering.

" No," he said at last, " it never befell me to sow
such grain in my field, nor to reap such grain, nor to
buy it. When we bought corn it was all of fine, small
grain. But," he continued, " you would do well to
ask my father. He may have heard where such a
grain as this one was grown."

So the Tsar sent the old man to fetch his father,
and commanded the latter to be brought to him.
The father of the old man was duly found and con-
ducted to the presence, and he entered it hobbling on
one crutch only. The Tsar showed him the grain,
and, as the old man still had the use of his eyes, he
was able to see it quite clearly. Then the Tsar asked
him:

" Do 5'ou know, my good old man, where such a grain
was grown? Did you ever yourself sow similar grain
in your field? Or did you ever in your time buy
similar grain from anywhere? "

The old man was a little hard of hearing, yet he
could hear much better than his son.

" No," he said, " it never befell me to sow or to
reap such grain; no, nor yet to buy it, since in my
time m.oney had not begun to be used in trade. Every-
one grew his own bread, and, as regarded other needs,
one shared with another. I do not know where such
a grain as this one can have been grown, for, although
our grain v;as larger than grain is nov/ and gave more
Hour, I have never before seen such a grain. But I

126 The Grain that was like an Egg

have heard my father say that in his time better com
was reaped than in mine, and that it was larger and
yielded more flonr. You would do well to send and
ask him."

So the Tsar sent for the father of this old man, and
the father was found and conducted to the presence.
He entered it without crutches at all — walking easily,
in fact — while his eyes were still bright and he spoke
distinctly. The Tsar showed him the grain, and the
old m.an looked at it and turned it over and over.

" Ah," he said, " but it Is many a long day since I
have seen a grain of olden times like this one I "
Then he nibbled the gi'ain and chewed a morsel of it.
' It is the same! " he exclaimed.

" Tell me, then, grandfather," said the Tsar,
" where and when such grain as this was gro\\Ti?
Did you yourself ever sow such grain in your field?
Or did you ever in j'our time buy it an3Avhcre of
others? "

Then the old man replied:

" In my time such grain as this was reaped every-
where. It was on such grain that I myself lived and
supported others. Such grain have I both sowed and
reaped and ground."

And the Tsar asked him again:

" Tell me, good grandfather, was it ever your
custom to buy such grain an3Avhere. or always to sow
it yourself in your own field? "

The old man smiled.

" In my time," he said, " no one would ever have
thought of committing so great a sin as to buy or to
sell grain. We knew nothing of money. Each man
had as much grain as he wanted."

Then the Tsar asked him again :

" Tell me, good grandfather, where it was that
you sowed such grain — where, indeed, your field
was? "

And the old man replied:

" My field was God's earth. Where I ploughed,
that was my field. The earth was free, and no man

The Grain that was like an Egg 127

called it his own. All that he called his own was the
labour of his own hands."

" Tell me now," said the Tsar, " two other things:
firstly, why it is that such grain once grew, but grows
not now; and secondly, why it is that your grandson
walked on two crutches, and your son on one, while
you yourself walk easily without any at all, and have,
moreover, your eyes still bright and your teeth still
strong and your speech still clear and kindly. Tell
me the reason for these two things."

Then answered the old man:

" The reason for those two things is that men have
ceased to live by their labour alone, and have begun
to hanker after their neighbours' goods. In the olden
days they lived not so. In the olden days they lived
according to God's word. They were masters of their
own, and coveted not what belonged to another."

WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO

In a certain town there lived a shoemaker named
Martin Avdeitch. He lived in a basement room
which possessed but one window. This window
looked onto the street, and through it a glimpse could
be caught of the passers-by. It is true that only
their legs could be seen, but that did not matter, as
Martin could recognize people by their boots alone.
He had lived here for a long time, and so had many
acquaintances. There were very few pairs of boots
in the neighbourhood which had not passed through
his hands at least once, if not twice. Some he had re-
soled, others he had fitted with side-pieces, others,
again, he had resewn where they were split, or pro-
vided with new toe-caps. Yes, he often saw his
handiwork through that window. He was given
plenty of custom, for his work lasted well, his materials
were good, his prices moderate, and his word to be
depended on. If he could do a job by a given time it
should be done ; but if not, he would warn you before-
hand rather than disappoint you. Everyone knew
Avdeitch, and no one ever transferred his custom
from him. He had always been an upright man, but
with the approach of old age he had begun more than
ever to think of his soul, and to draw nearer to God.

His wife had died while he was still an apprentice,
leaving behind her a little boy of three. This was
their only child, indeed, for the two elder ones had
died previousl}'. At first Martin thought of placing
the little fellow with a sister of his in the country,
but changed his mind, thinking: " My Kapitoshka
would not like to grow up in a strange family, so I will
keep him by me." Then Avdeitch finished his ap-
prenticeship, and went to live in lodgings with his
little boy. But God had not seen fit to give Avdeitch
happiness in his children. The little boy was just
12a

Where Love is, there God is also 129

growing up and beginning to help his father and to be
a pleasure to him, when he fell ill, was put to bed, and
died after a week's fever.

Martin buried the little fellow and was inconsolable.
Indeed, he was so inconsolable that he began to
murmur against God. His life seemed so empty that
more than once he prayed for death and reproached
the Almighty for taking away his only beloved son
instead of himself, the old man. At last he ceased
altogether to go to church.

Then one day there came to see him an ancient
peasant-pilgi'im — one who was now in the eighth year
of his pilgrimage. To him Avdeitch talked, and then
went on to complain of his great sorrow.

" I no longer wish to be a God-fearing man," he
said. " I only wish to die. That is all Task of God.
I am a lonely, hopeless man."

" You should not speak like that, Martin," replied
the old pilgrim. " It is not for us to judge the acts
of God. We must rely, not upon our own under-
standing, but upon the Divine wisdom. God saw fit
that your son should die and that you should live.
Therefore it must be better so. If you despair, it is
because you have wished to live too much for your
own pleasure."

" For what, then, should I live? " asked Martin.

" For God alone," replied the old man. " It is He
who gave you life, and therefore it is He for whom you
should live. When you come to live for Him you will
cease to grieve, and your trials will become easy to
bear."

Martin was silent. Then he spoke again.

" But how am I to live for God? " he asked.

" Christ has shown us the way," answered the old
man. " Can you read? If so, buy a Testament and
study it. You will learn there how to live for God.
Yes, it is all shown you there."

These words sank into Avdeitch's soul. He
went out the same day, bought a large-print copy
of the New Testament, and set himself to read it.

130 Where Love is, there God is also

At the beginning Avdeitch had meant only to read
on festival days, but when he once began his reading
he found it so comforting to the soul that he came
never to let a day pass without doing so. On the
second occasion he became so engrossed that all the
kerosene was burnt away in the lamp before he could
tear himself away from the book.

Thus he came to read it every evening, and, the
more he read, the more clearly did he understand
what God required of him, and in what way he could
live for God; so that his heart grew ever lighter and
lighter. Once upon a time, whenever he had lain
down to sleep, he had been used to moan and sigh as
he thought of his little Kapitoshka; but now he only
said — " Glory to Thee, O Lord ! Glory to Thee ! Thy
will be done! "

From that time onwards Avdeitch's life became
completely changed. Once he had been used to go
out on festival days and drink tea in a tavern, and had
not denied himself even an occasional glass of vodka.
This he had done in the company of a boon companion,
and, although no drunkard, would frequently leave
the tavern in an excited state and talk much nonsense
as he shouted and disputed with this friend of his.
But now he had turned his back on all this, and his
life had become quiet and joyous. Early in the
morning he would sit down to his work, and labour
through his appointed hours. Then he would take
the lamp down from a shelf, light it, and sit down to
read. And the more he read, the more he understood,
and the clearer and happier he grew at heart.

It happened once that Martin had been reading
late. He had been reading those verses in the sixth
chaj)ter of the (iospel of St Luke which run :

" And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek
offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy
cloke forbid not to take thy coat also. Give to every
man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh
away thy goods ask them not again. And as ye would

Where Love is, there God is also 131

that men should do to you, do ye also to them like-
wise."

Then, further on, he had read those verses where
the Lord says :

" And why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do not the
things which I say? Whosoever cometh to Me and
heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will show you
to whom he is like : He is like a man which built an
house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a
rock: and when the flood arose, the storm beat
vehemently upon that house, and could not shake it :
for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth
and doeth not, is like a man that without a founda-
tion built an house upon the earth; against which
the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it
fell; and the ruin of that house was great."

Avdeitch read these words, and felt greatly cheered
in soul. He took off his spectacles, laid them on the
book, leaned his elbows upon the table, and gave
himself up to meditation. He set himself to measure
his own life by those words, and thought to himself:

" Is my house founded upon a rock or upon sand?
It is well if it be upon a rock. Yet it seems so easy
to me as I sit here alone. I may so easily come to
think that I have done all that the Lord has com-
manded me, and grow careless and — sin again. Yet
I win keep on striving, for it is goodly so to do.
Help Thou me, O Lord."

Thus he kept on meditating, though conscious that
it was time for bed; yet he was loathe to tear himself
away from the book. He began to read the seventh
chapter of St Luke, and read on about the centurion,
the widow's son, and the answer given to John's
disciples ; until in time he came to the passage where
the rich Pharisee invited Jesus to his house, and the
woman washed the Lord's feet with her tears and He
justified her. So he came to the forty-fourth verse
and read:

" And He turned to the woman, and said unto
Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine

132 Where Love is, there God is also

house, and thou gavest IMe no water for My feet : but
she hath washed My feet with tears, and wiped them
with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest Me no kiss :
but this woman since the time I came in hath not
ceased to kiss ]\Iy feet. My head with oil thou didst
not anoint: but this woman hath anointed My feet
with ointment."

He read these verses and thought*

" ' Thou gavest i\Ie no water for My feet ' . .
* Thou gavest INIe no kiss ' . . . ' My head with oil
thou didst not anoint ' . . ." — and once again he
took off his spectacles, laid them on the book, and
became lost in meditation.

" I am even as that Pharisee," he thought to him-
self. " I drink tea and think only of my own needs.
Yes, I think onl}' of having plenty to eat and drink,
of being waiTn and clean — but never of entertaining
a guest. And Simon too was mindful only of himself,
although the guest who had come to visit him was —
who? Why, even the Lord Himself! H, then, He
should come to visit vie, should I receive Him any
better? " — and, leaning forward upon his elbows, he
was asleep almost before he was aware of it.

" Martin! " someone seemed to breathe in his ear.

He started from his sleep.

" Who is there? " he said. He turned and looked
towards the door, but could see no one. Again he
bent forward over the table. Then suddenly he heard
the words:

"Martin, Martin! Look thou into the street to-
morrow, for I am coming to visit thee."

Martin roused himself, got up from the chair, and
rubbed his eyes. He did not know whether it was
dreaming or awake that he had heard these words,
but he turned out the lamp and went to bed.

The next morning Avdeitch rose before daylight
and said his prayers. Then he made up the stove,
got ready some cabbage soup and porridge, lighted
the samovar, slung his leather apron about him, and
sat down to his work in the window. He sat and

Where Love is, there God is also 133

worked hard, yet all the time his thoughts were centred
upon last night. He was in two ideas about the vision.
At one moment he would think that it must have been
his fancy, while the next moment he would find him-
self convinced that he had really heard the voice.
" Yes, it must have been so," he concluded.

As Martin sat thus by the window he kept looking
out of it as much as working. Whenever a pair of
boots passed with which he was acquainted he would
bend down to glance upwards through the window and
see their owner's face as well. The doorkeeper passed
in new felt boots, and then a water-carrier. Next,
an old soldier, a veteran of Nicholas' army, in old,
patched boots, and carrying a shovel in his hands,
halted close by the window. Avdeitch knew him by
his boots. His name was Stepanitch, and he was kept
by a neighbouring tradesman out of charity, his duties
being to help the doorkeeper. He began to clear away
the snovv' from in front of Avdeitch's window, while
the shoemaker looked at him and then resumed his
work.

" I think I must be getting into my dotage," thought
Avdeitch with a smile. " Just because Stepanitch
begins clearing away the snow I at once jump to the
conclusion that Christ is about to visit me. Yes, I
am gro^ving foolish now, old greybeard that I am."

Yet he had hardly made a dozen stitches before he
was craning his neck again to look out of the window.
He could see that Stepanitch had placed his shovel
against the wall, and was resting and trying to warm
himseif a little.

" He is evidently an old man now and broken,"
thought Avdeitch to himself. " He is not strong
enough to clear away snow. Would he like some tea,
I wonder? That reminds me that the samovar must
be ready now."

He made fast his awl in his \\ork and got up.
Placing the samovar on the table, he brewed the tea,
and then tapped with his finger on the window-pane.

134 Where Love is, there God is also

Stepanitch turned round and approached. Avdeitch
beckoned to him, and then went to open the door.

" Come in and warm yourself," he said. " You
must be frozen."

" Christ requite you! " answered Stepanitch.
" Yes, my bones are almost cracking."

Ke came in, shook the snow off himself, and, though
totteriiig on his feet, took pains to wipe them carefully,
that he might not dirty the floor.

" Nay, do not trouble about that," said Avdeitch.
" I will wipe your boots myself. It is part of my
business in this trade. Come j^ou here and sit down,
and we will empty this tea-pot together."

He poured out two tumblerfuls, and offered one to
his guest; after which he emptied his own into the
saucer, and blew upon it to cool it. Stepanitch
drank his tumblerful, turned the glass upside down,
placed his crust upon it, and tha.nked his host kindly.
But it was plain that he wanted another one.

" You must drink some more," said Avdeitch, ajid
refilled his guest's tumbler and his own. Yet, in
spite of himself, he had no sooner drunk his tea than
he found himself looking out into the street again.

" Are you expecting anyone? " asked his guest.

" Am — am I expecting anyone? Well, to tell the
truth, yes. That is to say, I am, and I am not. The
fact is that some words have got fixed in my memory.
Whether it was a vision or not I cannot tell, but at
all events, my old friend, I was reading in the Gospels
last night about Our Little Father Christ, and how He
walked this earth and suffered. You have heard of
Him, have j'ou not? "

" Yes, yes, I have heard of Him," answered Step-
anitch; " but we are ignorant folk and do not know
our letters."

" Well, I was reading of how He Vv'alked this earth,
and how He went to visit a Pharisee, and yet received
no welcome from him at the door. All this I read
last night, my friend, and then fell to thinking about
it — to thinking how some day I too might fail to pay

Where Love is, there God is also 135

Our Little Father Christ due honour. ' Suppose,'
I thought to myself, ' He came to me or to anyone
like me? Should we, like the great lord Simon, not
know how to receive Him and not go out to meet
Him? ' Thus I thought, and fell asleep where I sat.
Then as I sat sleeping there I heard someone call my
name; and as I raised myself the voice went on (as
though it were the voice of someone whispering in my
ear) : ' Watch thou for me to-morrow, for I am coming
to visit thee.' It said that twice. And so those words
have got into my head, and, foolish though I know
it to be, I keep expecting Him — the Little Father —
every moment."

Stepanitch nodded and said nothing, but emptied
his glass and laid it aside. Nevertheless Avdeitch
took and refilled it.

" Drink it up; it will do you good," he said. "Do
you know," he went on, " I often call to mind how,
when Our Little Father walked this earth, there was
never a man, however humble, whom He despised,
and how it was chiefly among the common people
that He dwelt. It was always with them that He
walked; it was from among them — from among such
men as you and I — from among sinners and working
folk — that He chose His disciples. ' Whosoever,'
He said, ' shall exalt himself, the same shall be abased;
and whosoever shall abase himself, the same shall be
exalted.' ' You,' He said again, ' caU me Lord; yet
will I wash your feet.' ' Whosoever,' He said,
' would be chief among you, let him be the servant of
all. Because,' He said, ' blessed are the lowly, the
peacemakers, the merciful, and the charitable.' "

Stepanitch had forgotten all about his tea. He
was an old man, and his tears came easily. He
sat and hstened, with the tears rolling down his
cheeks.

" Oh, but 5'ou must drink your tea," said Avdeitch;
yet Stepanitch only crossed himself and said the
thanksgiving, after which he pushed his glass away
and rose.

136 Where Love is, there God is also

" I thank you, Martin Avdeitch," he said. " You
have taken me in, and fed both soul and body."

" Nay, but I beg of you to come again," replied
Avdeitch. " I am only too glad of a guest."

So Stepanitch departed, while Martin poured out
the last of the tea and drank it. Then he cleaned
the crockery, and sat down again to his work by the
window — to the stitching of a back-piece. He stitched
away, yet kept on looking through the window — look-
ing for Christ, as it were — and ever thinking of Christ
and His works. Indeed, Christ's many sayings were
never absent from Avdeitch's mind.

Two soldiers passed the window, the one in military
boots, and the other in civilian. Next, there came a
neighbouring householder, in polished goloshes; then
a baker with a basket. All of them passed on. Pre-
sently a woman in woollen stockings and rough country
shoes approached the window, and halted near the
buttress outside it. Avdeitch peered up at her from
under the lintel of his window, and could see that she
was a plain-looking, poorly- dressed woman and had a
child in her arms. It was in order to muffle the child
up more closely — little though she had to do it with!
— that she had stopped near the buttress and was
now standing there with her back to the wind. Her
clothing was ragged and fit only for summer, and even
from behind his window-panes Avdeitch could hear
the child crying miserably and its mother vainly
trying to soothe it. Avdeitch rose, went to the door,
climbed the steps, and cried out: " My good woman,
my good woman ! "

She heard him and turned round.

" Why need you stand there in the cold with your
baby? " he went on. " Come into my room, where it
is warm, and where you will be able to wrap the baby
up more comfortably than you can do here. Yes,
come in with you."

The woman was surprised to see an old man in
a leather apron and with spectacles upon his nose

Where Love is, there God is also 137

calling out to her, yet she followed him down the
steps, and they entered his room. The old man led
her to the bedstead.

" Sit you down here, my good woman," he said.
" You will be near the stove, and can warm yourself
and feed your baby."

" Ah, but I have no milk left in my breast," she
replied. " I have had nothing to eat this morning."
Nevertheless she put the child to suck.

Avdeitch nodded his head approvingly, went to the
table for some bread and a basin, and opened the stove
door. From the stove he took and poured some soup
into the basin, and drew out also a bowl of porridge.
The latter, however, was not yet boiling, so he set out
only the soup, after first laying the table with a
cloth.

" Sit down and eat, my good woman," he said,
" while I hold your baby. I have had little ones of
my own, and know how to nurse them."

The woman crossed herself and sat down, while
Avdeitch seated himself upon the bedstead with the
baby. He smacked his lips at it once or twice, but
made a poor show of it, for he had no teeth left.
Consequently the baby went on crying. Then he be-
thought him of his linger, which he wriggled to and fro
towards the baby's mouth and back again — without,
however, actually touching the little one's lips, since
the finger was blackened with work and sticky with
shoemaker's wax. The baby contemplated the
finger and grew quiet — then actually smiled.
Avdeitch was delighted. Meanwhile the woman had
been eating her meal, and now she told him, unasked,
who she was and whither she was going.

" I am a soldier's wife," she said, " but my husband
was sent to a distant station eight months ago, and
I have heard nothing of him since. At first I got
a place as cook, but when the baby came they said
they could not do with it and dismissed me. That
was three months ago, and I have got nothing since,
and have spent all my savings. I tried to get taken

138 Where Love is, there God is also

as a wet nurse, but no one would have me, for the}'
said I was too thin. I have just been to see a trades-
man's wife where our grandmother is in service. She
had promised to take me on, and I quite thought that
she would, but when I arrived to-day she told me to
come again next week. She lives a long way from
here, and I am quite worn out and have tired my baby
for nothing. Thank Heaven, however, my landlady
is good to me, and gives me shelter for Christ's sake.
Otherv\'ise I should not have known how to bear it
all."

Avdeitch sighed and said: " But have j'ou nothing
Vv-arm to wear? "

" Ah, sir," replied the woman, " although it is the
time for warm clothes I had to pawn miy last shawl
yesterday for two grivenki." '

Then the woman returned to the bedstead to take
her baby, while Avdeitch rose and went to a cup-
board. There he rummaged about, and presently
returned with an old jacket.

" Here," he said. "It is a poor old thing, but it
will serve to cover you."

The woman looked at the jacket, and then at the
old man. Then she took the jacket and burst into
tears. Avdeitch turned away, and went creeping
under the bedstead, whence he extracted a box and
pretended to rummage about in it for a few moments ;
after which he sat down again before the woman.

Then the woman said to him: "I thank you in
Christ's name, good grandfather. Surely it was He
Himself who sent me to your window. Otherwise I
should have seen my baby perish with the cold.
When I first came out the day was warm, but now it
has begun to freeze. But He, Our Little Father, had
placed you in your window, that you might see me
in my bitter plight and have compassion upon me."

Avdeitch smiled and said: " He did indeed place
me there: yet, my poor woman, it was for a special
purpose that I was looking out."

' The grivenka= 10 copecks = 2-)d.

Where Love is, there God is also 139

Then he told his guest, the soldier's wife, of his
vision, and how he had heard a voice foretelling that
to-day the Lord Himself would come to visit him.

" That may very well be," said the woman as she
rose, took the jacket, and wrapped her baby in it.
Then she saluted him once more and thanked him.

" Also, take this in Christ's name," said Avdeitch,
and gave her a two-grivenka piece with which to buy
herself a shawl. The woman crossed herself, and he
likewise. Then he led her to the door and dismissed
her.

When she had gone Avdeitch ate a little soup,
washed up the ci-ockery again, and resumed his work.
All the time, though, he kept his eye upon the window,
and as soon as ever a shadow fell across it he would
look up to see who was passing. Acquaintances of
his came past, and people whom he did not know, yet
never an5^one very particular.

Then suddenly he saw something. Opposite his
window there had stopped an old pedlar-woman, with
a basket of apples. Only a few of the apples, however,
remained, so that it was clear that she was almost
sold out. Over her shoulder was slung a sack of
shavings, which she must have gathered near some
new building as she was going home. Apparently,
her shoulder had begun to ache under their weight,
and she therefore wished to shift them to the other
one. To do this, she balanced her basket of apples
on the top of a post, lowered the sack to the pave-
ment, and began shaking up its contents. As she
was doing this, a boy in a ragged cap appeared from
somewhere, seized an apple from the basket, and
tried to make off. But the old woman, who had been
on her guard, managed to turn and seize the boy by
the sleeve, and although he struggled and tried to
break away, she clung to him with both hands,
snatched his cap off, and finally grasped him by the
hair. Thereupon the youngster began to shout and
abuse his captor. Avdeitch did not stop to make

140 Where Love is, there God is also

fast his awl, but threw his work down upon the floor,
ran to the door, and went stumbhng up the steps —
losing his spectacles as he did so. Out into the street
he ran, where the old woman was still clutching the
boy by the hair and threatening to take him to the
police, while the boy, for his part, was struggling in
the endeavour to free himself.

" I never took it," he was saying. " What are you
beating me for? Let me go."

Avdeitch tried to part them as he took the boy by
the hand and said:

" Let him go, my good woman. Pardon him for
Christ's sake."

" Yes, I will pardon him." she retorted, " but not
until he has tasted a new birch-rod. I mean to take
the young rascal to the police."

But Avdeitch still interceded for him.

" Let him go, my good woman," he said. " He
will never do it again. Let him go for Christ's sake."

The old woman released the boy, who was for
making off at once had not Avdeitch stopped him.

" You must beg the old woman's pardon," he said,
" and never do such a thing again. I saw you take
the apple."

The boy burst out cr^'ing, and begged the old
woman's pardon as Avdeitch commanded.

" There, there," said Avdeitch. " Now I will give
you one. Here you are," — and he took an apple
from the basket and handed it to the boy. " I will
pay 5'ou for it, my good woman," he added.

" Yes, but 3'ou spoil the young rascal by doing
that," she objected. " He ought to have received
a reward tliat would have made him glad to stand for
a week."

" All, my good dame, my good dame," exclaimed
Avdeitch. " That may be oiif way of rewarding, but
it is not God's. If this bo}' ought to have been
whipped for taking the apple, ought not we also to
receive something for our sins? "

The old woman was silent. Then Avdeitch related

Where Love is, there God is also 141

to her the parable of the master who absolved his
servant from the great debt which he owed him,
whereupon the servant departed and took his own
debtor by the throat. The old woman listened, and
also the boy.

" God has commanded us to pardon one another,"
went on Avdeitch, " or He will not pardon us. We
ought to pardon all men, and especially the thought-
less."

The old woman shook her head and sighed.

" Yes, that may be so," she said, " but these
young rascals are so spoilt already! "

" Then it is for us, their elders, to teach them
better," he replied.

" That is Vvhat I sa^^ myself at times," rejoined
the old woman. " 1 nad seven of them once at home,
but have only one daughter now." And she went on
to tell Avdeitch where she and her daughter lived,
and how the}' lived, and how many grandchildren she
had.

" I have onl}^ such strength as you see," she said,
" yet I work hard, for my heart goes out to my grand-
children— the bonny httle things that they are! No
children could run to meet me as they do. Aksintka,
for instance, will go to no one else. ' Grandmother,'
she cries, ' dear grandmother, you are tired ' " — and
the old woman became thoroughly softened.
" Everyone knows what boys are," she added pre-
sently, referring to the culprit. " May God go with
him! "

She was raising the sack to her shoulders again
when the boy darted forward and said:

" Nay, let me carrj^ it, grandmother. It will be all
on my way home."

The old woman nodded assent, gave up the sack to
the boy, and went away with him down the street.
She had quite forgotten to ask Avdeitch for the money
for the apple. He stood looking after them, and
observing how thej^ were talking together as they
went.

142 Where Love is, there God is also

Having seen them go, he returned to his room,
finding his spectacles — unbroken — on the steps as he
descended them. Once more he took up his awl and
fell to work, but had done little before he found it
difficult to distinguish the stitches, and the lamp-
hghter had passed on his rounds. " I too must light
up," he thought to himself. So he trimmed the
lamp, hung it up, and resumed his work. He finished
one boot completely, and then turned it over to look
at it. It was all good work. Then he laid aside his
tools, swept up the cuttings, rounded off the stitches
and loose ends, and cleaned his awl. Next he lifted
the lamp down, placed it on the table, and took his
Testament from the shelf. He had intended opening
the book at the place which he had marked last night
with a strip of leather, but it opened itself at another
instead. The instant it did so, his vision of last
night came back to his memory, and, as instantly, he
thought he heard a movement behind him as of some-
one moving towards him. He looked round and saw
in the shadow of a dark corner what appeared to be
figures — figures of persons standing there, yet could
not distinguish them clearly. Then the voice
whispered in his ear:

" Martin, Martin, dost thou not know Me? "

" Who art Thou? " said Avdeitch.

" Even I! " whispered the voice again. " Lo, it is
I! " — and there stepped from the dark comer Step-
anitch. He smiled, and then, like the fading of a
little cloud, was gone.

" It is I! " whispered the voice again— and there
stepped from the same corner the woman with her baby.
She smiled, and the baby smiled, and they were gone.

" And it is I ! " whispered the voice again — and
there stepped forth the old woman and the boy with
the apple. They smiled, and were gone.

Joy filled the soul of Martin Avdeitch as he crossed
himself, put on his spectacles, and set himself to read
the Testament at the place where it had opened. At
the top of the page he read:

Where Love is, there God is also 143

" For I was an hungred, and ye gave Me meat: I
was thirst}', and ye gave Me drink: I was a stranger,
and ye took Me in,"

And further down the page he read:

" Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least
of these ray brethren ye have done it unto Me."

Then Avdeitch understood that the vision had come
true, and that his Saviour had in very truth visited
him that day, and that he had received Him.

THE TWO OLD MEN

"The woman saith unto Ilim, Sir, I see that Thou art a prophet.
Our fathers worshipped in this mountain ; and ye say that in
Jerusalem is the place where men ouglit to worship. Jesus saith
unto her, Woman, believe Me, the hour cometh when ye shall
neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem worship the Father.
Ye worship ye know not what : we know what we worship : for
salvation is of the Jews. But the hour comeih, and now is, when
the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth :
for the Father seeketh such to worship Him."

(John iv. 19-23.)

Two old men took it into their heads to go and pray
to God in ancient Jerusalem. One o: them was a rich
peasant named Efim Tarassitch Sheveloff, and the
other was a poor man named Elijah Bodroff.

Efim was a sober man. He drank no vodka, smoked
no tobacco, took no snuff, had never breathed an oath
in his life, and was altogether a strict and conscientious
citizen. Twice he had served a term as starosta, and
left office without a figure wrong in his books. He had
a large family (his two sons, as well as a grandson,
were married), and they all lived together. In person
he was an upright, vigorous muzhik, with a beard only
begun to be streaked with grey now that he had
attained his seventieth year. Old Elijah, on the
other hand, was a man neither rich nor poor, who,
formerly a travelling carpenter, had now settled down
and taken to bee-keeping. One of his sons earned his
living at home, and the other one away. He was a
good-hearted, cheerful old fellow, and drank vodka,
smoked tobacco, took snuff, and loved a good song.
None the less, he was of peaceable disposition, and
lived on excellent terms both with his household and
the neighbours. In himself he was a man of medium
height, with a swarthy complexion and curly beard.
Moreover, like his holy namesake, the Prophet Elijah,
he was bald.

144

The Two Old Men 145

The two old men had long ago agreed to go upon
this pilgrimage together, yet Efim had never been
able to find time from his business. As soon as he
had got one thing out of hand he would find himself
hatching a new scheme. Now he would be marrying
a granddaughter, now expecting his younger son
home from military service, now planning to erect a
new hut.

One day the old men met at a festival, and seated
themselves together on a bench.

" Well," said Elijah, " when are we going to carry
out that long-agreed-upon scheme of ours? "

Efim frowned. " We must wait a little yet," he
said. " This last year has been a heavy one for me.
When I planned to build that new hut I reckoned it
would cost me about a hundred roubles only, but
already the estimate is rising up to three times that
amount, and it hasn't come in yet. I must certainly
wait until the summer. Then, if God pleases, we will
go."

" Well," replied Elijah, " it seems to me that we
ought not to put it off any longer, but to go now.
Spring is the very time for it."

" Time or no time, the work is begun now. How
can I go and leave it? "

" But have you no one to leave in charge? Surely
your son could see to it? "

''He indeed! Why, that eldest son of mine is
perfectly useless. He would spoil it all."

" No, no, my old friend. Even if 3'ou and I died
to-morrow, the world would still go on without us.
Your son only needs a little teaching."

" That may be; yet I want to see the work finished
under my own eyes."

" Pooh, my dear sir! One never really gets to the
end of things. Why, only the other day our women
at home were washing the linen and getting ready for
the festival — first one thing having to be done, and
then another, as if there would never be an end to it
all — when at last my eldest daughter-in-law (and she

146

The Two Old Men

is a clever woman) exclaimed : ' Never mind if the
festival is coming on and we shan't be ready. How-
ever much we do, we can't do everything.' "

Efim reflected a moment — then said:

" I have laid out a lot of money already on this
building scheme, and it would hardly do to set forth
on a journey with empty hands. A hundred roubles
is no light sum to raise, 5'ou know."

Elijah smiled.

" Yes, you must be careful," he said. " Why, your
income is ten times as much as mine, yet you worry far
more about money than I do. Look at me. Merely
tell me when to start, and, little though I possess, I
shall be there."

Efim smiled in his turn.

"Are you such a rich man, then, after all?" he
said. " Where is it all going to come from? "

" Oh, I shall scrape it together somehow — raise it
somehow. If there is no other way of doing so, I
shall sell a dozen of my range of bee-hives to a
neighbour. He has long been after them."

" And then the swarms will turn out well, and you
will be sorry for it."

" Sorry for it? No, no. I have never been sorry
for anything in my life except for my sins. There is
nothing worth troubling about except one's soul."

" That may be; yet it is awkward to have things
go wrong at home."

" But it is still more awkward to have things go
wrong with one's soul. Come now! You have as
good as promised me, so we must really go. It would
be only right of us to do so."

II

Thus Elijah won over his comrade. Next morning Efim

took counsel with himself, and then went to see Elijah.

" Yes, we will go very soon now," he said. " You

were quite right. In life or in death we are in God's

The Two Old Men 147

hands. We ought to go while we are still alive and
well."

A week later the two got themselves ready. Efim
always kept his money at home, and of i': he took 190
roubles for the journey, and left 200 for the old woman.
Elijah likewise made his preparations. He sold the
neighbour ten out of his range of bee-hives, together
with whatever stock of honey they might produce.
That brought him in seventy roubles. Another thirty
he swept together from one corner and another. His
wife gave up the whole of her funeral savings, and their
daughter-in-law did the same.

Efim confided the entire direction of his affairs at
home to his eldest son, telling him which crops to pull
while he v/as away, and how much of them, where to
spread the manure, and how to build and roof the new
hut. He thought of everything, left directions for
everything. Elijah, on the other hand, merely told
his old wife to be careful to collect such young bees as
might leave the hives which he had disposed of, and
deliver full tale of them to the neighbour. On other
domestic matters he said not a word. Circumstances
themselves would show what was to be done, and how
it was to be done, as circumstances arose. House-
wives, he thought, know their own business best.

So the two old men made them ready for the
journey. Home-made cakes were baked, wallets
contrived, new leggings cut out, new boots procured,
and spare shoes provided. Then they set off. Their
respective households escorted them to the parish
boundary, and there took leave of them. Thus the
old men were fairh^ launched upon their way.

Elijah walked along in high spirits, and forgot all
his domestic concerns immediately he had left the
village. His only cares were how to beguile the way
for his companion, to avoid uttering a single churlish
word, and to arrive at his destination and return thence
in perfect peace and goodwill. As he walked along
he whispered silent prayers to himself or thought
over his past life so far as he could remember it.

148

The Two Old Men

WTiether he fell in with a fellow-traveller, or whether
he were begging for a night's lodging, with each and
all he endeavoured to associate amicably and with a
pious word upon his lips. As he went he rejoiced in
heart. One thing, however, he could not do. He had
resolved to leave off tobacco, and to that end had left
his pipe at home — and he missed it sadly. On the
way a man gave him one. Thereafter, lest he should
cause his fellow-traveller to stumble, he would fall
behind him and smoke quietly.

As for Efim, he walked circumspectly, determined
to do nothing amiss and speak no light word, since
frivolity was foreign to his soul. Likewise, his
domestic cares never left his thoughts. He was for-
ever thinking of how things might be going at home
and of the directions he had given to his son, as well
as wondering if those directions were being carried
out. Whenever he saw peasants setting potatoes or
carting manure he at once thought to himself: " Is
my son doing as I instructed him? " Sometimes,
indeed, he felt like turning back to give fresh direc-
tions and see them carried out in person.

Ill

When the old men had been on the tramp five weeks
iheir home-made bast shoes gave out, and they had to
buy new ones. In time they arrived at the country
of the KhokJili,^ where, although by this time they
were far from the district where they were known
and had for some time past been accustomed to pay
for their board and lodging each night, these good
people vied with each other in entertaining them.
They took them in and fed them, yet would accept
no money, but sped them on their way with food in
tlieir wallets and sometimes new bast shoes as well.
Thus the old men covered 700 versts with ease, until
they had crossed another province and arrived in a
' I.e., the " Tufted Men " — a nickname given to the Ruthenians.

The Two Old Men 149

bare and poverty-stricken land Here the inhabit-
ants were wilhng to take them in, and would accept
no money for their night's lodging, yet ceased to pro-
vide them with food. Nowhere was even bread given
to the travellers, and occasionally it could not be
bought. Last year, the people said, nothing had
grown. Those who had been rich had ploughed up
their land and sold out; those who had been only
moderately rich were now reduced to nothing; while
those who had been poor had either perished outright
or emigrated, with the exception of a few, who still
eked out a wretched existence somehow. During
the past winter, indeed, such people had lived on chaff
and weeds.

One evening the old men stayed the night at a
hamlet, and, having bought fifteen pounds of bread,
went on before dawn, so as to get as far as possible
while it was yet cool. They covered ten versts, and
then sat down by a brook, ladled some water into a
bowl, soaked and ate some bread, and washed their
feet. As they sat and rested Elijah pulled out his
horn tobacco-box, whereupon Efim shook his head in
disapproval.

" Why not throw that rubbish away? " he said.

" Nay, but if a failing has got the better of one,
what s one to do? " replied Elijah with a shrug of his
shoulders.

Then they got up and went on for another ten
versts. Tlie day had now become intensely hot, and
after reaching and passing through a large village,
Elijah grew vv^eary, and longed to rest again and have
a drink. Efim, however, refused to stop, for he was
the better walker of the two, and Elijah often found
it difficult to keep up with him.

" Oh, for a drink! " said Elijah.

" Well go and have one. I myself can do with-
out.'

Elijah stopped. " Do not wait for me," he said.
" I will run to that hut there and beg a drink, and be
after you again in a twinkling."

150 The Two Old Men

" Very well," said Efim, and he went on along the
road alone, while Elijah turned aside to the hut.

When he came to it he saw that it was a small,
plastered cabin, with its lower part black and the up)per
part white. The plaster was peeling off in patclies,
and had evidently not been renewed for many a long
day, while in one side of the roof there was a large
hole. The way to the hut door lay through a yard,
and when Elijah entered the latter he saw a man —
thin, clean-shaven, and clad only in a shirt and
breeches, after the fashion of the KholkJii — lying
stretched beside a trench. Somehow he looked as
though he were lying there for coolness' sake, yet the
sun was glaring down upon him. There he lay, but
not as though asleep. Elijah hailed him and asked
for a drink, but the man returned no answer. " He
must be either ill or uncivil," thought Elijah, and went
on to the door of the hut, within Vv'hich he could hear
the voices of two children crying. He knocked first
with the iron ring of the door-knocker, and called
out "Mistress!" No one answered. Again he
knocked with his pilgrim's staff and called out,
" Good Christians! " Nothing stirred within the
hut. "Servants of God! " he cried once more, and
once more received no response. He was just on the
point of turning to depart when he heard from behind
the door a sound as of someone gasping. Had some
misfortune come upon these people? He felt that he
aiust find out, and stepped inside.

IV

The door was unlocked, and the handle turned easily.
Passing through a little entrance-porch, the inner
door of which stood o])en, Elijah saw on the left a
stove, and in front of him the living portion of the
room. In one corner stood an ikon frame and a
table, while behind the table stood a wooden bench.
Upon this bench was seated an old woman — bare-

The Two Old Men 151

headed, and clad in a simple shift. Her head was
bowed upon her arms, while beside her stood a little
boy — thin, waxen in the face, and pot-bellied — who
kept clutching her by the sleeve and crying loudly as
he besought her for something. The air in the hut
was stifling to the last degree. Elijah stepped for-
ward and caught sight of a second woman stretched
on a shelf-bunk behind the stove. She was lying face
downwards, with her eyes closed, but moaned at
inter\'als as she threw out one of her legs and drew
it back again with a writhing movemient. An oppress-
ive odour came from the bunk, and it was clear that
she had no one to attend to her. All at once the old
woman raised her head and caught sight of the
stranger.

" What do you want? " she asked in the Littie-
Russian dialect. " Wliat do you want? Nay, my
good man, we have nothing for you here."

None the less, Elijah understood her dialect, and
took a step nearer.

" I am a servant of God," he said, " who crave of
you a drink of water."

" Nay, but there is no one to get it for you," she
replied. " You must take what you require and go."

" And is there no one well enough to wait upon this
poor woman? " went on Elijah, presently.

" No, no one. Her man is dying in the yard yonder,
and there are only ourselves besides."

The little boy had been stricken to silence by the
entry of a stranger, but now the old woman had no
sooner finished speaking than he clutched her again
by the sleeve.

" Some bread, some bread, granny! " he cried, and
burst out weeping.

Elijah was about to question the old woman further
when a peasant staggered into the hut, supporting
himself by the wall as he did so, and tried to sit down
upon the bench. Missing his footing in the attempt,
he rolled backwards upon the floor. He made no
attempt to rise,, but struggled to say something,

152 The Two Old Men

speaking a word only at a time, with rests between
each one.

" We have sickness here," he gasped, " and famine
too. That httle one there " — and he nodded towards
the boy — " is dying of hunger." He burst into
tears.

Elijah unslung his wallet from his shoulders, freed his
arms from the strap, and lowered the wallet to the floor.
Then he lifted it, placed it on the bench, unfastened it,
and, taking out some bread and a knife, cut off a hunch
and held it out towards the peasant. Instead of taking
it, the man made a movement of his head in the
direction of the two children (there was a little girl
there also, behind the stove), as much as to say,
" Nay, give it to them." Accordingly Elijah handed
the piece to the little boy, who no sooner caught sight
of it than he darted foi'ward, seized it in his tiny
hands, and ran off, with his nose fairly buried in the
crumb. At the same moment the little girl came
out from behind the stove, and simply glued her eyes
upon the bread. To her too Elijah handed a piece,
and then cut off another for the old woman, who took
it and began to chew it at once.

" I beseech you, get us some water," she said pre-
sently. " Our mouths are parched. I tried to draw
some water this morning (or this afternoon — I hardly
know which), but fell down under its weight. The
bucket will be there now if you could only bring it."

Upon Elijah asking where the well was, the old
woman told him, and he went off. He found the
bucket there as she had described, brought some
water, and gave each of them a drink. Now that they
had had the water, the children managed to devour
a second hunch apiece, and the old woman too, but
the peasant would not touch anything. " I do not
feel inclined," he said. As for his wife, :;he lay tossing
herself to and fro on the bunk, unconscious of what
was passing. Elijah returned ti) a shop in the village,
thought some millet, salt, meal, and butter, and hunted
out a hatchet. Then, having cut some firewood, he

The Two Old Men 153

lighted the stove with the httle girl's help, cooked
some soup and porridge, and gave these poor people
a meal.

The peasant ate but little, but the old woman did
better, while the two children cleared a bowlful apiece,
and then went to sleep in one another's arms. Pre-
sently the man and the old woman began telling Elijah
how it had all come upon them.

" We used to make a living," they said, " poor
though it was ; but when the crop failed last year we
found we had exhausted our stock by the autumn,
and had to eat anything and everything we could get.
Then we tried to beg of neighbours and kind-hearted
folk. At first they gave, but later they began to
refuse us. There were many who would have given,
but they had nothing to give. In time, too, it began
to hurt us to beg, for we were in debt to everyone —
in debt for money, meal, and bread."

" I tried to get work," went on the peasant, " but
there was almost none to be got. Everywhere there
were starving men struggling for work. A man might
get a little job one day, and then spend Ihe next two
in looking (or another. The old woman and the little
girl walked many a long distance for alms, though
what they received was little enough, seeing that
many, like ourselves, had not even bread. Still, we
managed to feed ourselves somehow, and hoped to win
through to the next season. But by the time spring
came people had ceased to give at all, and sickness
came upon us, and things grew desperate. One day
we might have a bite ot something to eat, and then
nothing at all for two more. At last we took even to
eating gvass ; and whether that was the cause or some-
thing else, the wife fell ill as you see. There she lay
on the bed, while I myself had come to the end of my
strength, and had no means of reviving it."

" Yes, I was the only one who held up," went on

154 The Two Old Men

the old woman, " Yet hunger was pulling me down
as well, and I was getting weaker every day. The
little girl was in the same plight as I was, and taking
'o having nerv^ous fits. One day I wanted to send
her to a neighbour's, but she would not go. She just
crept behind the stove and refused. The day before
yesterday another neighbour came and looked in;
but as soon as she saw that we were ill and starving
she turned round and went away again. You see,
her own husband had just died, and she had nothing
to give her little children to eat. So, when you came,
we were just lying here — waiting for death to come."

Elijah listened to their tale, and decided that, as it
was doubtful whether he could overtake Efim that
day, he had better spend the night here. The next
morning he rose and did the housework, as if he him-
self were the master. Then he helped the old woman
to make dough, and lighted the stove. After that he
accompanied the little girl to some neighbours' huts,
to try and borrow what else was needed, but was
unsuccessful everywhere. No one had anything at
all — everything had been disposed of for food, down
to household necessaries and even clothes. Con-
sequently Elijah had to provide what was needed him-
self— to buy some things and make others. He spent
the whole day lilvc this, and then the next, and then
a third. The little boy recovered himself, and began
to walk along the bench and to frisk about Elijah,
while the little giil grew quite merry and helped in
everything. She was forever running after Elijah
with her " Dithi, Didusiu / "'■ The old woman like-
wise picked up again, and went out to see a neighbour
or two, while as for the husband, he progressed so far
as to walk a little with the help of the wall. Only
his wife still lay sick. Yet on the third day she too
opened her eyes and asked for food.

" Now," thought Elijah to himself, " I must be off.
I had not expected to be detained so long."

'Little Russian for '■'■ Diadia, Diadiushka!" ("Uncle, dear
Uncle ! ").

The Two Old Men 155

VI

It chanced, however, that the fourth (the next) day
would be the first of the rozgovieni, or days of iiesh-
eating, and Eh^ah thought to himself: " How would
it be if I were to break my fast with tliese people,
buy them some presents for the :estival, and then go
on my way in the evening? " So he went to the
village again, and bought milk, white meal, and lard.
Everyone, from the old woman downwards, boiled
and baked that day, and next morning Elijah went to
Mass, returned to the hut, and broke his fast v/ith his
new friends. That day, too, the wife got up from her
bed, and walked about a little. As for the husband,
he shaved himself, put on a clean shirt (hastily washed
for him by the old woman, since he had only one),
and went off to the village to beg the forbearance of a
rich peasant to whom both corn- and pasture-land had
been mortgaged, and to pray that he would surrender
them before the harvest. Towards evening the
husband returned with a dejected air, and burst into
tears. The rich peasant, it seemed, had refused his
request, saying, " Bring me the money first."

Elijah took counsel with himself again. " How are
these people to five without land.^ " he thought.
" Strangers will come and reap the crops, and leave
nothing at all for them, since the crops are mortgaged.
However good the rye may turn out to be (and Mother
Earth is looking well now), strangers will come and
harvest it all, and these people can look to receive
nothing, seeing that their one dessiatin of corn-land
is in fee to the rich peasant. If I were to go away now,
they would come to rack and ruin again."

He was so distressed by these thoughts that he did
not leave that evening, but deferred his departure
until the next morning. He went to sleep in the yard
as usual, and lay down after he had said his prayers.
Nevertheless his eyes would not close. " Yes, I ought
to go," he thought " f or I have spent too much time

156

The Two Old Men

and money here already. I am sorry for these people,
but one cannot benefit everyone. I meant only to
give them a drop of water and a slice of bread; yet
see what that slice has led to! Still," he went on,
" why not redeem their com- and meadow-land while
I am about it? Yes, and buy a cow for the children
and a horse for the father's harvesting? Ah, well,
you have got your ideas into a fine tangle, Elijah
Kuzmitch! You are dragging your anchors, and
can't make head or tail of things."

So he raised himself, took his cloak from under his
head, turned it over until he had found his horn
tobacco-box, and smoked to see if that would clear
his thoughts. He pondered and pondered, yet could
come to no decision. He wanted to go, and at the
same time felt sorry for these people. Which way
was it to be? He really did not know. At last he
refolded his cloak under his head and stretched himself
out again. He lay like that until the cocks were
crowing, and then dozed off to sleep. Suddenly some-
one seemed to have aroused him, and he found himself
fully dressed and girded \\ith wallet and staff — found
himself walking out of the entrance-gates of the yard.
But those gates were so narrow, somehow, that even
a single person could hardly get through them. First
his wallet caught on one of the gates, and when he
tried to release it, the gate on the other side caught
his legging and tore it right open Turning to release
it also, he found that, after all, it was not the gate that
was holding it, but the little girl, and that she was
crying out, " Diditi ! Didiusiu ! Give me some
bread! " Then he looked at his leg again, and there
was the little boy also holding on to the legging, while
their father and the old woman were looking from a
window. He awoke, and said to himself: " I will
buy out their land for them to-morrow — yes, and buy
them a horse and cow as well. Of what avail is it to
go across the sea to seek Christ if all the time I lose
the Christ that is within me here? Yes, I must put
these people straight again " — and he fell asleep until

The Two Old Men 157

morning. He rose betimes, went to the rich peasant,
and redeemed both the rye-crop and the hay. Then
he went and bought a scythe (for these people's own
scythe had been sold, together with everything else),
and took it home with him. He set a man to mow the
hay, while he himself went hunting among the muzhiks
until he found a horse and cart for sale at the inn-
keeper's. He duly bargained for and bought it, and
then continued his way in search of a cow. As he
was walking along the street he overtook two Kholkhi
women, who were chatting volubly to each other as
they went. He could hear that it was of himself they
were speaking, for one of the women said:

" When he first came they could not tell at all what
he v/as, but supposed him to be a pilgrim. He only
came to beg a drink of water, yet he has been there
ever since. There is nothing he is not ready to buy
them. I myself saw him buying a horse and cart to-
day at the innkeeper's. There cannot be many such
people in the world. I should like to see this marvel-
lous pilgrim."

When Elijah heard this, and understood that it
was himself they were praising, he forbore to go and
buy the cow, but returned to the innkeeper and paid
over the money for the horse and cart. Then he
harnessed the horse, and drove home to the hut.
Driving right up to the gates, he stopped and ahghted.
H"is hosts were surprised to see the horse, and although
it crossed their minds that possibly he migiit have
bought it for themselves, they hesitated to say so.
However, the husband remarked as he ran to open
the gates: " So you have bought a new horse, then,
grandfather? " To this Elijah merely answered: " Yes,
but I only bought it because it happened to be going
cheap. Cut some fodder, will you, and lay it in the
manger for its food to-night? " So the peasant un-
harnessed the lioTse, cut some swathes of grass, and
filled the manger. Then everj^'one lay down to rest.
But Ehjah lay out upon the roadway, whither he had
taken his wallet beforehand; and when all the

158

The TvTO Old Men

people were asleep he arose, girded on his wallet,
put on his boots and cloak, and went on his way to
overtake Efim.

VII

When Elijah had gone about five versts, the day began
to break. He sat down under a tree, opened his
wallet, and began to make calculations. According
to his reckoning, he had seventeen roubles and twenty
copecks left. " Well," he thought, " I can't get across
the sea on that, and to raise the rest in Christ's name
would be a sin indeed. Friend Efim must finish the
journey alone, and offer my candle for me. Yes,
my vow must remain unfulfilled now until I die; but,
thanks be to God, the Master is merciful and long-
suffering."

So he rose, slung his wallet across his shoulders, and
went back. Yet he made a circuit of the village —
of that village — so that the people should not see him.
Soon he was near home again. When he had been
travelling aivay from home, walking had been an effort,
and he had hardly been able to keep up with Efim;
but now that he was travelling toivards home it seemed
as if God helped his steps and never let him know
weariness. As he went along he jested, swung his
staff about, and covered seventy versts a day.

So he came home. A crowd gathered from the
fields, far and near, and his entire household ran to
greet their old head. Then they began to ply him
with questions — as to how, when, and where every-
thing had happened, why he had left his comrade
behind, why l:e had returned home witliout completing
the jouniey, and so on. Elijah did not make a long
story of it.

" God did not see fit to bring me to my goal," he
said. " I lost some money on the road, and got
separated from my companion. So I went no further.
Pardon me, for Christ's sake," — and he handed what
was left of the money to his old goodwife. Then he

The Two Old Men 159

asked her about his domestic affairs. All was well
with them, ever}i:hing had been done, there had been
no neglect of household management, and the family
had lived in peace and amity.

Efim's people heard the same day that Elijah had
returned, and went to him to ask about their own old
man. Elijah merely told them the same story.
" Your old mian," he said, " was quite weU when he
parted from me. That was three days before the
Feast of Saint Peter. I meant to catch him up later,
but various matters intervened v/here I was. I lost
my money, and had not enough to continue upon,
so I came back."

Everyone was surprised that a man of such sense
could have been so foolish as to set out and yet never
reach his journey's end, but only waste his money.
They were surprised — and then forgot all about it.
Ehjah did the same. He resumed his household
work — helping his son to get firewood ready against
the winter, giving the women a hand with the corn-
grinding, roofing the stable, and seeing to his bees.
Likevvise he sold another ten hives, with their produce,
to the neighbour. His old wife wanted to conceal how
many of the hives had been swarmed from, but Elijah
knew ^vithout her telling him which of them had
swarmed and which were barren, and handed over
seventeen hives to the neighbour instead of ten. Then
he put everything straight, sent off his son to look for
work for himself, and sat down for the winter to plait
bast shoes and carve wooden clogs

VIII

All that day when Elijah found the sick people in
the hut and remained with them, Efim had waited for
his companion. First he went on a little way and sat
down. There he waited and waited, dozed off, woke
up again, and went on sitting — but no Elijah appeared.
He looked and looked about for him, while the sun

i6o The Two Old Men

sank behind a tree — yet still no Elijah. " Can he
have passed me," thought Efim, " or have been given
a lift and so have driven past me, v/ithout noticing me
where I sat asleep? Yet he could not have helped
seeing me if that had been the case. In this steppe
country one can see a long way. It would be no good
my going back for him, since he might miss me on
the road, and we should be worse off than ever. No,
I win go on, and we shall probably meet at the next
halting- place for the night." In time Efim came to a
village, and asked the Desiatnik ^ there to see to it that
if such and such an old man (and he described Elijah)
arrived later he should be directed to the same hut as
himself. But Elijah never arrived to spend the night,
so Efim went on again the next morning, asking every-
one whom he saw if they had come across a bald-
headed old man. No one had done so, however.
Efim was surprised, but still pushed on alone. " We
shall meet somewhere in Odessa," he thought, " or
on board the ship," and forthwith dismissed the
matter from his mind.

On the road he fell in with a travelling monk who,
dressed in skull-cap and cassock, had been to Athos,
and was now on his way to Jerusalem for the second
time. They happened to lodge at the same place one
night, and agreed henceforth to go together.

They arrived at Odessa without mishap, but were
forced to wait three days for a ship. There were
many other pilgrims waiting there, come from all
parts of Russia, and among them Efim made further
inquiries about Elijah, but no one had seen liim.

The monk told Efim how he could get a free passage
if he wished, but Efim would not hear of it. "I would
much rather pay," he said. " I have made provision
for that." So he paid down forty roubles for a passage
out and home, as well as laid in a stock of bread and
herrings to eat on the way. In time the vessel was
loaded and the pilgrims taken on board, Efim and the
monk keeping close to one another. Then the anchor
^ Headman of a hamlet of ten families (or thereabouts).

The Two Old JMeii i6i

was weighed, sail set, and they put out to sea. Ail
that first day they had smooth sailing, but towards even-
ing the wind arose, the rain came down, and the vessel
began to roll heavily and ship water. The passengers
were flung from side to side, the women began wailing,
and those of the men whose stomachs were weaker
than those of their fellows went below in search of
berths. Elim too felt qualms, but repressed any out-
ward manifestation of them, and remained sitting the
whole of that night and the following day in the same
position on deck which he had secured on embarking,
and which he shared with some old people from
Tamboff. They held on to their baggage, and
squatted there in silence. On the third day it grew
calmer, and on the fifth they put into Constantinople,
where some of the pilgrims landed and went to look
at the Cathedral of Saint Sophia, now a jMahomedan
mosque. Efim did not land, but remained sitting
where he was. After a stay of twenty-four hours they
put to sea again, and, calling only at Smyrna and
Alexandria, arrived without mishap at their port of
destination, Jaffah. There all the pilgrims disem-
barked for the seventy versts' tramp to Jerusalem,
the business of landing being a nerve-shaking one for
the poor people, since they had to be lowered into
small boats, and, the ship's side being high and the
boats rocking violently, it always looked as though
the passenger would overshoot the boat. As a matter
of fact, two men did get a ducking, but eventually
everyone came safely to land. Once there, they lost
no time in pushing forward, and on the fourth day
arrived at Jerusalem. They passed through the city
to a Russian hostel, showed their passports, had some
food, and were conducted by the monk aromid the
Holy Places. To the actual Holy Sepulchre itself
there was no admission that day, but they first of all
attended Matins at the Greek Monastery of the Patri-
arch (where they said their prayers and offered votive
candles) and then went to gaze at the outside of tiie
Church of the Resurrection, in which lies the actual

M

1 62 The Two Old Men

Sepulchre of the Lord, but which is so built as to con-
ceal all view of the Sepulchre from outside. That
first day also they were afforded a glimpse of the cell
where Mary of Egypt took refuge, and duly offered
candles there and recited a thanksgiving. They next
wished to return to Mass at the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, but found that they were too late, and so
went on to the Monastery of Abraham in the Garden
of Saveki, where Abraham once wished to sacrifice
his son to the Lord. Thence the}' proceeded to the
place where Christ appeared to Maiy Magdalene, and
thence to the Church of Saint James, the brother of
Our Lord. At all these places the monk acted as
their guide, telling them everywhere how much to
pay and where to offer candles. At length they re-
turned to the hostel, and had just retired to rest when
the monk suddenly sprang up, and began rummaging
among his clothes. " Someone has stolen my purse
and money ! "he exclaimed. " The purse had twenty-
three roubles in it — two ten-rouble notes and three
roubles in coin! " He raged and stormed for some
time, but there was no help for it, and eventually they
all lay down to sleep.

IX

Efim lay down with the rest, and a temptation fell
upon him. " I do not believe," he thought to himself,
" that the monk was robbed, for he had nothing which
thieves could take. He never gave anything any-
where. He told inc to give, but never gave anything
himself, and even borrowed a rouble of me."

But almost instantly he began to reproach himself
for thinking so. " Who am I," he said, " to judge
another? It is sinful of me, and I will refrain from
these thoughts." It was not long, however, before
he found himself remembering again how watchful
of money the monk had been, and how unhkely it was
that his tale of being robbed could be true. " He had

The Two Old Men 163

nothing to be robbed of," thought Efim once more.
" It was a mere excuse."

In the morning the}^ rose and went to early mass at
the great Church of the Resurrection — at the Holy
Sepulchre itself. The monk never left Efim, but
walked by his side all the way. When they entered
the church the}^ found a great crowd there, both of
monks and pilgrim.s — Russian, Greek, Armenian,
Turkish and Syrian, as well as of obscurer nationalities.
Efim approached the Holy Gates with the others,
passed the Turkish guards, and reached the spot where
the Saviour was taken down from the Cross, and where
now stood nine candlesticks with lighted tapers.
There he offered a candle, and was then conducted
by the monk up the steps on the right to Golgotha,
to the spot where the Cross had stood. There Efim
knelt down and prayed. Then he was shown the
cleft where the earth was rent, the spot where Christ's
hands and feet were nailed to the Cross, and the Tomb
of Adam, where Christ's blood had trickled down upon
Adam's bones. Next they came to the stone on which
Christ sat while the Crown of Thorns was being placed
upon His head, and then to the pillar to which He was
bound for the scourging. Finally Efim saw the stone
with the two holes for the feet of Christ. They would
have shown him something more had not the crowd
hurried forward, for all were eager to reach the actual
catacomb of the Lord's Sepulchre. There a foreign
Mass had just ended, and the Orthodox was beginning.
Efim entered the Sepulchre with the rest.

He wanted to get rid of the monk, for he found him-
self continually sinning in his thoughts against him;
but the monk still kept by his side, and entered with
him into the Holy Sepulchre to hear Mass. They
tried to get nearer to the front, but found it impossible,
since the people were so closely packed that any move-
ment either backward or fonvard was out of the
question. As Efim stood gazing to the front and try-
ing to pray, he found himself continually feeling for
his purse. Two thoughts kept passing through his

164

The Two Old Men

mind. The first was — " Is the monk cheating me
all the time? " and the second was — " If he has not
been cheating me, and really had his purse stolen,
why did the}^ not do the same to me as well? "

X

As Efim stood thus, praying and gazing towards the
chapel in which the actual Sepulchre stood, with
thirty-six lamps always burning above it — suddenly,
as he stood peering through the heads in front of him,
he saw a strange thing. Immediately beneath the
lamps, and ahead of all the congregation, he perceived
an old man, dressed in a rough serge kaftan, and with
a shining bald head like Elijah Bodroff's. " How ex-
actly like Elijah he is! " thought Elim to himself.
" Yet it cannot possibly be he, lor it would have been
impossible for him to get here before myself. The
last ship before our own sailed a whole week before
we did, so he could never have caught it. And he
certainly was not on our own, for I looked at every
pilgrim on board."

Just as these thoughts had passed through Efim's
mind, the old man in front began to pray, with
three bows as he did so: one forwards, to God, and
one on either side of him, to the whole Orthodox
world. And lo! as the old man turned his head to
bow towards his right, Etim recognized him beyond
all possibility of doubt. It was Elijah Bodroff!
Yes, that ivas Elijah's curly black beard — those were
his eyebrows, his eyes, his nose — those were his features
altogether! Yes, it was he, and nobody else — Ehjah
Bodroff!

Elim was overjoyed at having found his comrade,
though also not a little surprised that Elijah could
have arrived before him.

" He must have slipped past me somewhere, and
then gone on ahead w itli someone who helped him on
the wa}'," thought Efim. " However, I will catch

The Two Old Men 165

him as we pass out, and get rid of this monk in the
skull-cap. After that Elijah and I will keep together
again. He might have got me to the front now if
he had been with me."

So he kept his eyes fixed upon Elijah, determined
not to lose sight of him. At last the Mass came to an
end, and the people began to move. Indeed, there
was such a crush as ever3'one pressed forward to kiss
the Cross that Efim got jambed into a corner. Once
more the thought that his purse might be stolen from
him made him nervous, so he squeezed it tightly in
his hand and set himself to force his way clear of the
throng. Succeeding at last, he ran hither and thither,
seeking Elijah, but eventually had to leave the
church without having come across him. Next he
visited the various hostels, to make inquiries about
him, but, although he traversed the whole city, he
could not find him anywhere. That evening, too, the
monk did not return. He had departed without re-
paying the rouble, and Efim was left alone.

Next day, Efim went to the Holy Sepulchre again,
accompanied by one of the old men from Tamboff
who had been \\ith him on the ship. Once more he
tried to get to the front, and once more he got thrust
aside, so that he had to stand by a pillar to say his
prayers. He peered through the heads in front of
him again, and, behold! ahead of all the congregation,
and under the very lamps of the Lord's Sepulchre,
stood Elijah as before! He had his arms spread out
like those of a priest at the altar, and his bald head
was shining all over.

" Now," thought Efim, " I do not mean to lose him
this time." So he started to worm his way forward,
and eventually succeeded — but Elijah had vanished.
He must have left the church.

The third day also Efim went to Mass, and once
more looked for Elijah. And once more there stood
Elijah, in the same position as before, and having
the same appearance. His arms were spread out
and he was gazing upwards, as though beholding

1 66 The Two Old Men

something above him, while his bald head again shone
brightly.

" Well," thought Efim, " come what may, I am not
going to lose him this time. I will go straight away
and post myself at the entrance, where we cannot
possibly miss each other."

So he did so, and stood waiting and waiting as the
people passed out; but Ehjah did not come with
them.

Efim remained six weeks in Jerusalem. He visited
all the hoty spots — Bethlehem, Bethany, the Jordan,
and the rest — as well as had a new shirt stamped with
a seal at the Holy Sepulchre (to be buried in one
day), took away water from the Jordan in a phial,
took away also earth and candles from the Holy Place,
and spent all his money except just what was sufficient
to bring him home again. Then he started to return,
reached Jaffah, embarked, made the passage to Odessa,
and set out upon his long overland tramp.

XI

Efim travelled alone, and by the same route as on the
outward journey. Gradually as he drew nearer home
there came back to him his old anxiety to know how
things had been faring in his absence. " So much
water passes down a river in a year! " he thought.
" A home may take a lifetime to build up, and an hour
to destroy." So he kept constantly wondering how
his son had managed affairs since his departure, what
sort of a spring it had been, how the cattle had stood
the winter, and whether tlie new hut was finished.

When in time he arrived where he had parted from
Elijah he found it hard to recognize the people of the
locality. Where Last year they had been destitute,
to-day they were living comfortably, for the crops
had been good everywhere. The inhabitants had re-
covered themselves, and quite forgotten their former
tribulations. So it came about that one evening Efim

The Two Old Men 167

was drawing near to the identical village where Elijah
had left him a year ago. He had almost reached it,
when a little girl in a white frock came dancing out
of a hut near b5^ calling out as she did so, " Grand-
father! Dear grandfather! Come in and see us."
Efim was for going on, but she would not let him, and,
catching him by the skirt of his coat, pulled him laugh-
ingly towards the hut. Thereupon a woman and a
little boy came out onto the steps, and the former
beckoned to Efim, saying : " Yes, pray come in,
grandfather, and sup and spend the night." So Efim
approached the hut, thinking to himself, " I might
get news of Elijah here, for surely this is the very hut
to which he turned aside to get a drink." He went in,
and the woman relieved him of his wallet, gave him
water to wash in, and made him sit down at the table;
after which she produced milk, and dumplings, and
porridge, and set them before him.

Efim thanked her kindly, and commended her
readiness to welcome a pilgrim. The woman shook
her head in deprecation of this. " We could do no
otherwise," she answered, " for it was from a pilgrim
that we learnt the true way of life. We had been
living in forgetfulness of God, and He so punished us
that we came very near to death's door. It was last
year, in the summer, and things had gone so hard with
us that we were, one and all, lying ill and starving.
Of a surety we should have died, had not God sent to
us just such another old man as yourself. He came
in at midday, to beg a drink of water, and was seized
with compassion when he saw us, and remained here.
He gave us food and drink and set us on our feet,
redeemed our land for us, bought us a horse and cart
— and then disappeared."

The old woman entered the hut at this moment,
and the younger one broke off.

" Yes," went on the old woman, " to this day we do
not know whether that man may not have been an angel
of God. He loved us, pitied us, and yet went away
without saying who he was, so that we know not for

1 68 The Two Old Men

whom to pray. Even now it all passes before my eyes.
I was lying there, waiting for death, when I chanced
to look up and saw that an old man — an ordinary-
looking old man, except for his baldness — had entered
to beg some water. I (may God forgive me for my
sinfulness!) thought to myself: 'Who is this vaga-
bond? ' Yet listen now to what he did. No sooner
had he seen us than he took off his wallet, and, laying
it down here — yes, here, on this very spot — unfastened
it and — "

" No, no, granny," broke in the little girl, eagerly.
" First of all he laid the wallet in the middle of the
hut, and then set it on the bench " — and they fell to
vieing with one another in recalling Elijah's every
word and deed — where he had sat, where he had
slept, and all that he had said and done to everybody.

At nightfall the master of the house came riding
up to the hut on horseback, and soon took up the tale
of Elijah's life with them. " Had he not come to us
then," he said, " we should all of us have died in sin;
for, as we lay there dying and despairing, we were
murmuring both against God and man. But this holy
pilgrim set us on our feet once more, and taught us
to trust in God and to believe in the goodness of our
fellow men. Christ be with him! Before, we had
lived only as beasts: 'twas he that made us
human."

So these good people entertained Efim with food
and drink, showed him to a bed, and themselves lay
down to sleep. But Efim could not sleep, for the
memory of Elijah — of Elijah as he had three times
seen him at the head of the congregation in Jerusalem
— would not leave him.

" Somewhere on the road he must have passed
me," he thought, " Yet, however that may be,
and no matter whether my pilgrimage be accepted or
not, God has accepted him."

In the morning his hosts parted with Efim, loaded
him with pasties for the journey, and went off to their
work, while Efim pursued his way.

The Two Old Men 169

XII

Just a 3'ear had passed when Efim arrived home —
arrived home in the spring. The time was evening,
and his son was not in the hut, but at a tavern. At
length he came home in drink, and Efim questioned
him. There was abundant evidence that his son had
been hving a dissolute life in his absence. He had
wasted all the money committed to his care, and
neglected everything. His father broke out into
reproaches, to which the son replied with insolence.

" You went gaily off on your travels," he said,
" and took most of the money with you. Yet now
you require it of me ! " The old man lost his
temper and struck him.

Next morning, as he was going to the sfarosia to
give up his passport, he passed Elijah's yard. On
the lodge-step stood Elijah's old wife, who greeted
Efim warmly.

" How are you, my good sir? " she said. " So you
have returned safe and well? "

Efim stopped. " Yes, I have returned, glory be to
God," he replied. " But I lost sight of your good
husband, although I hear that he is back now."

The old woman responded readily, for she loved
chatting.

" Yes, he is back, good sir," she said. " He re-
turned some while ago — it was just after the Feast
of the Assumption — and glad we were that God had
brought him safely! We had been sadly dull without
him. He can work but little now, for his best years
lie behind him, but he remains always our hea.d, and
we are happier when he is here. How delighted our
boy was! 'Life without daddy,' said he 'is like
having no light to see by.' Yes, we found it dull in-
deed without Elijah. We love him too well not to
have missed him sorely."

" Tlien perhaps he is at home at this moment? "

" Yes, he is at home, and busy at his hive-bench,

170 The Two Old Men

taking a swarm. He says that the swarms have been
magnificent this year — that God has given the bees
such health and vigour as he has never known before.
Truly, he says, God does not reward us after our
sins. But come in, my dear sir. He will be delighted
to see you."

So Eiim stepped through the lodge, crossed the
courtyard, and went to find Elijah in the bee-garden.
As he entered it he caught sight of him — unprotected
by netting or gloves, and clad only in a grey khaftan —
standing under a young birch tree. His arms were
spread out and his face turned upwards, with the
crown of his bald head shining all over, as when he
had stood those three times by the Lord's Sepulchre
in Jerusalem; while above him — as also in Jerusalem
— the sun was playing through the birch branches
like a great burning lamp, and around his head the
golden bees were dancing in and out and weaving
themselves into a diadem, without stinging him.
Efim stood still where he was.

Then Elijah's wife called out: "Husband! A
friend has come to see you." Elijah looked round,
his face broke out into smiles, and he ran to meet his
comrade, gently brushing some bees from his beard
eis he did so.

" Good day to you, good day to you, my dear old
friend! " he cried. " Then did you get there safely? "

" Yes, of a surety. My feet carried me safely, and
I have brought you home some Jordan water. Come
and see me some time and get it. Yet I know not if
my task has been accepted of God, or — "

" Surely, surely it has. Glory be to Him and to
Our Lord Jesus Christ! "

Efim WcLS silent a moment; then continued : "Yes,
my feet carried me thither; but whether I was there
also in spirit, or whether it were another who — "

" Nay, nay. That is God's affair, my old comrade
— God's affair."

' Well, on my way back," added Efim, " I stopped
at the hut where you parted from me."

The Two Old Men 171

Elijah seemed frightened, and hastened to inter-
rupt him. " That also is God's affair, my friend —
God's affair," he said. " But come into the hut, and
I will get you some honey " — and he hurried to change
the conversation by talking of household matters.

Efim sighed, and forebore to tell Elijah of the
people in the hut or of his having seen him in Jeru-
salem. But this clearly did he understand: that in
this world God has commanded everyone, until death,
to work off his debt of duty by means of love and
good works.

THE THREE OLD MEN

"And when ye pray, make not vain repetitions as the heathen do :
for they think they shall be heard for their much asking. Be not
like unto them, for your Heavenly Father knows what ye have
need of before ye ask Ilim." (Matt. vi. 7, 8.)

An Archbishop was making the voyage from Arch-
angel to Solovki, and on the ship were several pilgrims.
The wind was favourable, the weather bright, and the
vessel steady. The pilgrims were chatting to one
another — some lying down, some eating, some sitting
in groups. The Archbishop came on deck, and began
pacing to and fro on the fore-and-aft bridge. Pre-
sently, as he drew near to the forecastle, he perceived
a knot of passengers gathered there, among whom a
little muzhik was pointing towards something on the
sea and relating some tale or other, while the crowd
listened. The Archbishop halted and looked in the
direction in which the muzhik was pointing, but could
see nothing except the sea glittering in the sun.
Then he drew nearer and began to listen, but as soon
as the muzhik saw him he took off his cap and be-
came silent. His listeners also saw the Archbishop,
took off their caps, and did him reverence.

" Do not be disturbed, my brethren," said the
Archbishop. " I did but come to join the others in
listening to what you, my good friend, were saying."

" The little fisherman was telling us about the old
men," ventured a merchant more daring than the
rest.

" Wliat of them? " asked the Archbishop as he
crossed over to the side and seated himself on a chest.
" Tell me, for I should like to hear. What were you
pointing to just now? "

" To the little island showing faintly over there,"
replied the little peasant as he ])ointed forward and
to starboard. "On that little island over there there
live some old men who are servants of God."

172

The Three Old Men 173

" Point out that island to me exactly, will you? "
said the Archbishoji.

" Be so good, then, your Holiness, as to glance
along my hand. You will see a little cloud, and below
it and to the left of it something which looks like a dark
streak on the horizon."

The Archbishop looked and looked, yet the water
was so specked with sunlight that his unaccustomed
eye could make out nothing.

" No, I cannot see it," he said. " But what are
they like, those old men who live there? "

" They are holy men," replied the peasant. " I
heard of them first a long, long while ago, but it was
not until last summer that I ever obtained a sight of
them."

And the fisherman repeated the story of how he had
been sailing in his boat after fish, when it struck upon
this island, although he did not know at the time
where he was. In the morning, he said, he landed
to look about him, and came upon a little mud
hut, beside which an old man was sitting, and out of
which two others emerged presently. They gave him
food, dried his clothes, and helped him to repair his
boat.

" WTiat were they like to look at? " asked the
Archbishop further.

" One of them was small and hunch-backed, as well
as very, very old, and dressed in a cassock of ancient
style. He must have been over a hundred years old
at the least, for the grey hairs in his beard had begun
to show green ; yet he was as bright and cheerful of
countenance as an angel of Heaven. There was a
second old man, likewise very ancient, but taller than
the first, and dressed in a ragged kha/taii. His long
beard was half yellow, half grey, yet he was clearly a
strong man, for he turned my boat over as though it
had been a pail, and my assistance was quite un-
necessary. He too was of cheerful countenance.
As for the third old man, he was of great height, with
a beard reaching to his knees and as white as the

174 The Three Old Men

plumage of a ger-falcon; yet his countenance was
gloomy, with beetling brows, and he was naked save
for a loin-cloth."

" And what did they say to you? " inquired the
Archbishop.

" Most of what they did they did in silence, and
seldom spoke, even to one another. One of them
would look at the other, and the other one would
understand him at once. I asked the tallest of them
whether they had lived there long, and he frowned
and said something, as though vexed, but the little
old man — the eldest of the three — took him by the
hand and smiled: and for a moment there was a
great silence. All that the eldest one said then was,
* Pardon us;' and then he smiled again."

While the peasant had been speaking the ship had
been drawing nearer to a group of islands.

*' It is quite visible now," put in the merchant.
" Pray look over yonder, your Holiness," he added as
he pointed forward. The Archbishop did so, and
could clearly distinguish a little island like a dark
streak on the water. At this island he gazed
intently, and then went aft from the forecastle
to the poop, and approached the helmsman.

" What is the name of that island over there? " he
asked.

" That island? It has no name. There are many
such about here."

" Then is it true what they say — that some holy
men live there? "

"It is said so, your Holiness, but I do not know if
it be true. There are fishermen who say that they
have seen them, but it often happens that they are
only spinning yarns."

" I should like to touch at that island and see the
old men," said the Archbishop. " Could that be
done? "

" Well, your Holiness, no ship can put in there,
only a small boat, and you would need to ask the
captain's leave."

The Three Old Men 175

So the captain was sent for.

" I should hke to go and see those old men," said
the Archbishop. " Could you land me there? "

The captain demurred. " Whether I could or
not," he said, " it would cost us much time. Besides,
I would represent to your Holiness that it would not
be worth your while to go and see the old men, for I
have heard that they are imbeciles who understand
nothing and are as dumb as the fishes of the sea."

" Nevertheless, I should lilce to see them," replied
the Archbishop, " and would pay. you well for your
trouble if you could land me there."

After that it only remained to give orders to the
crew and to have the sails put about. The helmsman
also altered his course, and the ship headed for the
island. A chair was set for the Archbishop on the
forecastle, so that he might sit there and look tov/ards
the island, and round him gathered the ship's com-
pany, all gazing in the same direction. Already those
with keener eyes could see the rocks fringing the shore
and point out the little hut, out of which one of the
three old men was already peering. The captain pro-
duced a telescope, and, having looked through it,
handed it to the Archbishop. " I think," said the
captain, " that I can make out three men standing
on the beach, just to the right of a large rock." So
the Archbishop also looked through the telescope
towards the spot indicated. Yes, there seemed to be
three men there — one of them very tall, one rather
shorter than he, and one a man of small stature.
They were standing hand-in-hand upon the beach.

The captain now approached the Archbishop.
" Here, your Holiness," he said, " we must heave the
ship to, but if you still wish to land, you can do so by
small boat, while we remain at anchor here."

So a cable was run out and the sails furled.
Then the anchor was let go, and the barque swoing
to and fro at the cable's end as her course was checked.
A boat was lowered, the rowers jumped in, and the
Archbishop began to let himself down the companion-

176 The Three Old Men

ladder. Rung by rung he descended until he had
seated himself in the stern sheets of the boat, where-
upon the rowers gave weigh and headed for the island.
Arrived under the large rock for which they had been
steering, they saw standing there three old men — one
of them tall and naked but for a loin-cloth, a second
one shorter and clad in a ragged khaftan, and a very,
very old hunchback in an antiquated cassock. There
the three stood, hand in hand.

The rowers grappled the shore with a boat-hook,
and made fast, after which the Archbishop stepped
out. The old men made obeisance to him, and he
blessed them in return, whereupon they bowed still
lower. Then the Archbishop spoke.

" I heard," he said, " that you three holy men were
living the devout life here and praying to Christ for
the sins of mankind; wherefore I — also an unworthy
servant of Christ, called to feed His flock — am here
by the mere}' of God, that I might see you and, if
possible, impart to you instruction."

The old men said nothing — only smiled and looked
at one another.

" Tell me, will you," went on the Archbishop,
" what your devotions are and how you serve God? "

The old man of medium height sighed and looked
at the most ancient of the three, while the tallest of
them knit his brows and also looked at the most
ancient. The latter smiled once more and said:

" O servant of God, we know not how to serve Him.
We know but how to serve ourselves, to support our-
selves."

" In what form, then, do you pray to God? " asked
the Archbishop and the eldest replied:

" We pray thus: ' Ye are three, and we are three.
Have Ye mercy upon us.' "

And instantly as the old man said this, the three
raised their eyes to heaven and -aid in unison: " Ye
are Three, and we are three. Have Ye mercy upon
us."

The Archbishop smiled and said: " It seems that

The Three Old Men 177

you have heard of the Blessed Trinity: yet that is
not the way in whicla you should pray. I feel drawn
towards you, O old men of God, and perceive that you
wish to please Him, yet know not rightly how to serve
Him. It is not thus that you should pray, but rather
in the manner that I will teach you, if you will listen
to me. Yet not of myself comes this knowledge
which I am about to impart to you, but of Holy Writ,
wherein God has set forth how all men should pray
unto Him."

So the Archbishop began to expound to the old
men how God revealed Himself to mankind, as well
as to speak at length concerning God the Father,
God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. Then he
said:

" God the Son, who came to earth to save mankind,
did thus command that all men should pray unto Him.
Listen, and repeat it after me."

" Our Father," began the Archbishop, and " Our
Father " repeated the first old man, " Our Father "
repeated the second, and " Our Father " repeated
the third.

" — Which art in Heaven," continued the Arch-
bishop, and " — Which art in Heaven " re-echoed the
three old men. None the less, the one of medium
height kept mixing up his words and pronouncing them
incorrectly, while the tall, naked old man could not
speak distinctly for the beard which covered his
mouth and hindered his utterance. As for the eldest
and toothless old man, he only stammered out his
words in a meaningless sort of way.

The Archbishop repeated the sentence a second
time, and the old men after him. Then he sat down
upon a rock, and the old men stood round him, looking
attentively into his face, and learning by rote what he
taught them. All that afternoon until evening did
the Archbishop labour with them. Ten, twenty —
even a hundred— times would he repeat a single word,
until the old men had learnt it by heart. They
would keep stumbling over it and he correcting them,

N

178

The Three Old Men

after which he would bid them repeat the whole again
from the beginning.

Indeed, the Archbishop did not leave them until he
had taught them the whole of the Lord's Prayer, so
that they could recite it both after him and by them-
selves. The eldest of the three was the first to grasp
it in its entirety, yet the Archbishop made him say it
again, and then repeat it again and yet again. So
with the others also.

When at length the Archbishop rose to return to
the ship it was beginning to grow dark and the moon
was rising out of the sea. He took leave of the old
men, and they prostrated themselves at his feet. He
raised them, kissed them each on the forehead, bid
them pray as he had instructed them, and re-entered
the boat to return to the ship.

All the while that he was being rowed thither he
could hear them reciting aloud, and in three different
voices, the Lord's Prayer; but b)'- the time the boat
had reached the ship their voices had faded out of
hearing, and only their forms were discernible in the
moonlight. They were still standing in the self-same
spot, those old men ; one — the shortest — in the middle,
the tallest on the right, and the one of medium height
on the left.

The Archbishop reached the ship and climbed
aboard. The anchor was weighed and the sails
hoisted, until presently, as the wind filled out the
canvas, the ship began to move and continued on
her voyage. The Archbishop went onto the poop,
sat down, and fixed his eyes upon the island. For a
time the three old men remained still visible, but
gradually they disappeared from view, and only the
outline of the island could be seen. Then it too dis-
appeared, and the lonely sea played in the moonlight.

The pilgrims had now turned in for the night, and
all was quiet on deck. Yet the Archbishop did not
feel sleepy as he sat alone on the poop and gaz-ed at
the sea in the direction of the vanished island and
thought of the good old men. He remembered how

The Three Old Men 179

pleased they had been to learn the Lord's Prayer,
and thanked God that it had been vouchsafed him
to bring aid to those pious hermits and teach them
God's Word.

Thus did the Archbishop sit thinking and gazing
towards the sea-line where the island had disappeared.
Then something far away in the distance began to
flicker in his eyes, and a light seemed to come stealing
thence over the face of the waters. Suddenly that
something became definite — became something which
shone and showed white in the track of the moon.
Surely it was either a sea-bird or the tiny sail of a
fishing-boat. The Archbishop gazed attentively at
it. " It is a boat sailing to catch us up," he thought:
" nor will it be long before it does so. A moment ago
it was a long, long way off, yet now it is drawing near
to us so quickly that it will soon be plainly visible.
But no," he went on presently, " that boat, as I took
it to be, is no boat, nor does that resemble a sail.
Whatever it is, it is pursuing us, and Nvill quickly over-
haul us." Yet still the Archbishop could not make
out for certain what the thing was — whether a boat,
or not a boat ; whether a bird, or not a bird ; whether
a fish, or not a fish. Hold! There was something
there, looking like a man and very large ! Yet it could
not be a man — a man out there in the middle of the
waters! The Archbishop rose and crossed to the
helmsman. " Look," he said to him. " What is
that thing there? "

"Ay, my man, what is it, what is it? " asked the
Archbishop again — and then saw for himself that it
was the three old men running on the sea, their grey
beards showing dazzlmgly bright, and their feet over-
hauling the ship as though it had been standing
still!

The helmsman stared, let fall the tiller in his fear,
and shouted at the top of his voice: " Oh, God of
Heaven! There are three old men running upon the
sea as upon dry land! "

The ship's company heard him, rushed on deck.

i8o The Three Old Men

and crowded to the poop. Everyone could see the
old men running and holding each other by the hand
as they did so.

Then the two outer ones of the three held up each
of them a hand, and commanded the ship to stop.
They ran upon the sea as upon dry land, yet with-
out moving their feet at all.

The ship had not been brought to when the old men
reached it, approached the bulwark, raised their heads
above it, and cried with one voice:

" O servant of God, we have forgotten, we have
forgotten all that you taught us. So long as we re-
peated it we remembered it, but for an hour we ceased
to repeat it, and every word escaped us. We have
forgotten it all — it is all gone from us. None of it
can we recall. Teach us thou it again."

Then the Archbishop crossed himself, bent over
the ]')ulwark to the old men, and said:

" Your prayer too, O ancient men of God, was pro-
fitable unto the Lord. It is not lor me to teach you.
Pray you rather for us sinners."

And the Archbishop bowed to his feet before the
old men. For a moment they stood motionless — then
turned, and went back across the sea. And imtil
morning a light could be seen glowing in the direc-
tion in which they had departed.

GOD SEES THE RIGHT, THOUGH HE BE
SLOW TO DECLARE IT

In the town of Vladimir there lived a young merchant
named Aksenoff, who possessed two shops and a
house.

In person Aksenoff was ruddy, curly-haired, and
ahogether handsome. Moreover, he was a singer and
wit of the first order. From his youth upward he had
been given to drinking habits, and, when drunk, to
brawHng; yet, as soon as ever he married, he fore-
swore hquor, and only occasionally broke out in that
direction.

One summer he was taking leave of his family before
setting out for the fair at Nizhny, when his wife said
to him:

" Ivan Dmitrievitch, do not go to-day. I had such
an evil dream about you last night."

But Aksenoff laughed and said :

" Are you afraid, then, that I am going to make
too merry at the fair? "

" Nay," she replied, " I hardly know what it is I
am afraid of. Only, I saw such a dreadful thing in
my dream! You were coming home from the town,
and as you lifted your cap I could see that your hair
had turned grey! "

Aksenoff laughed again.

" So much the better," he said. " See now if I
don't drive some prudent bargains there, and bring
you home some valuable presents."

And he kissed his family and departed.

Half-way on the road he fell in with another
merchant of his acquaintance, and they stopped to
spend the night together at an inn. They drank tea.
and then went to bed in adjoining rooms. Aksenoff,
who was anything but a stay-abed, awoke in the
middle of the night, and, since travelling was pleasanter
while it was cool, aroused the ostler, and told him to

i82 God sees the Right

put his horse in. Then he went into the office, settled
up with the landlord, and departed.

After going about forty versts he stopped to bait
his horse, and, having refreshed himself with a sleep
in the lodge of the inn-yard, went indoors to dine on
the verandah. He ordered a samovar of tea, laid
hands upon a guitar, and proceeded to play it.
Suddenly a troika ' hung with bells drove into the
courtj^ard, and from the body of it alighted a tchin-
ovnik - and two soldiers. The man walked up to
Aksenoff and asked hun who he was and where he had
come from, to which queries Aksenoff duly replied,
and then inquired, in his turn, if the tchinovnik would
care to join him in a samovar of tea. The official's
only answer was to ply him with further questions —
where he had slept last night, was he alone or with a
merchant, had he seen the merchant in the morning
before he left, why he had started so early, and so on.
Aksenoff was a good deal surprised at being examined
in this way, but told the official all he knew, and then
said:

" Why do you want these particulars ? I am neither
a thief nor a highwayman, but a merchant travelling
on business of my own, and have given no cause for
being questioned like tliis."

The tchinovnik merely called the soldiers to him and
said:

" I am an ispravnik,^ and the reason I am question-
ing 5'ou is that the merchant in whose company you
were last night has had his throat cut. Show me all
your things; and do you" (here he turned to the
soldiers) " search him."

So Aksenoff was conducted indoors, and his trunk
and hand-bag taken from him, opened and searched.
Suddenly the ispravnik lifted a knife from the bag
and cried :

" What is this knife of yours? "

^ A three-horsed vehicle.

'^ A generic term for all officials in Russia

»An inspector of rural police.

Though slow to Declare It 183

Aksenoff stared, and saw that a blood-stained knife
had been produced from his baggage. He was simply
thunder-struck.

" And how comes there to be blood on the knife? "
pursued the ispravnik.

Aksenoff tried to answer, but the words stuck in his
throat.

" I — I do not know. I — I — that knife — does — does
not belong to me at all," he stammered at length; to
which the ispravnik retorted:

" This morning the merchant was found murdered
in his bed, and no one but you could have done it,
for the door of the sleeping-hut was locked on the
inside, and there was no one in it, besides him, but
yourself. Now we find this blood-stained knife in
your bag, and, in addition, your face betrays 3'ou.
Tell me how you murdered this man and how much
money you stole from him."

Aksenoff vowed to God that he had not committed
the deed, that, as a matter of fact, he had seen nothing
of the merchant after taking tea with him, that he
had nothing upon his person beyond 8000 roubles
of his own, and that the knife was not his. Yet his
voice kept breaking, his face was deadly pale, and he
shook with fear like a guilty man.

Despite his tears and protestations, the ispravnik
ordered the soldiers to handcuff him and conduct him
outside to the vehicle. All his baggage and money
were taken from him, and he was dispatched to gaol
in the neighbouring town. Inquiries were made in
Vladimir as to his character, and the inhabitants and
merchants of the place unanimously testified that,
although he had been a free drinker and roisterer from
his boyhood up, he was nevertheless a most respect-
able man. Then the trial came on, and in the end
he was convicted both of the murder and of stealing
20,000 roubles.

His wife was distracted about her husband, and
hardly knew what to think about the affair. Never-
theless, although her children were all of them young

184 God sees the Right

— one, indeed, being still at the breast — she set off
with them to the town where her husband was con-
fined. At first she could not obtain permission to
see him, but after petitioning the superior authorities,
she was at length admitted to the prison. As soon
as she caught sight of him dressed in prison clothes,
fettered, and surrounded by criminals, she fell to the
floor in a faint, and it was a long time before she re-
covered. Then she gathered her children about her,
sat down with them by her husband's side, and began
to tell him of domestic matters and to ask him about
all that had happened to him. When he had told
her she said:

" And what ought we to do now? "

" We must petition the Tsar," he replied. " They
cannot let an innocent man suffer."

Then she broke it to him that she had already done
so, and that the petition had been rejected. He said
nothing, but sat looking at the floor. She went on :

" So, you see, it was not for nothing that I saw in
my dream that your hair had turned grey. It is
growing a little so already with your troubles. Ah,
if only you had not gone that day! "

Then she began to stroke his hair as she added :

" My own darling Ivan, tell me, your wife, the truth.
You did this deed, did you not? "

" That yo:t should ever have thought it of me! "
was all that Aksenoff could say as he covered his face
with his hands and burst into tears. At that moment
a soldier entered and said that it was time for the wife
and her children to leave. So, for the last time,
Aksenoff parted with his family.

When she had gone Aksenoff began to think over
their conversation; and when he remembered that
even his wife had thought him guilty and had actually
asked him whether he had not murdered the merchant
he said to himself:

" It is clear that God alone knows the truth. To
Him only must I pray, and from Him only expect
mercy."

Though slow to Declare It 185

And from that moment Aksenoff abandoned all
hope or thought of further petitions, and prayed only
to God.

He had been sentenced to the knout and penal
servitude, and the sentence was duly carried out.
First he was flogged, and then, when the wounds from
the knout had healed, he was dispatched with other
convicts to Siberia.

In Siberia he lived in penal servitude for twenty-
six years. The hair of his head turned as white as
snow, and his beard grew long, straight, and grizzled.
All his old cheerfulness left him, and he became bent,
taciturn, and grave — yet constant always in his
prayers to God.

In prison he learnt to make boots, and with the
money thus earned he bought a Testament, and read
it whenever there was sufficient light in the prison;
while on feast days he went to the prison church,
read the Gospel there, and sang in the choir, for his
voice was still good. The authorities liked him for
his quiet demeanour, while his prison comrades re-
spected him so much that they called him " Died-
iushka "* and " the man of God." Whenever peti-
tions were being drawn up in the prison his comrades
always sent Aksenoff with them to the authorities,
and whenever quarrels were afoot among the convicts
they always appealed to him to settle them.

No one ever wrote to Aksenoff from home, so that
he had no means of knowing whether his wife and
children were alive or dead.

One day a batch of new convicts arrived at the
prison, and in the evening the old prisoners gathered
around the latest arrivals to ask them who they were,
what town or village they had come from, and for
what offences. Aksenoff likewise came and sat down
upon a pallet near the newcomers, and listened, with
his eyes upon the floor, to what one or another of the
prisoners might be saying. One convict in particular
— a tall, vigorous old man of sixty, with a grey, close-
^An endearing diminutive of " Diedd " ("Grandfather").

1 86 God sees the Right

cropped beard — was relating the story of the offence
for which he was arrested.

" So, my friends," he said, " you see that I have
been sent here for nothing. All that I did was to
take a post-boy's horse out of a sledge in an inn-yard.
They arrested me, saying that I had stolen it. Of
course I told them that my only object in taking the
horse was to arrive the quicker at my journey's end,
after which I should have returned it; yet they said,
* No, you have stolen it ' — and that, too, without so
much as knowing at the time where or how I had
' stolen ' it ! Well, I w£ls tried, and, if only they
could have got the necessary evidence, should have
been here long ago. But they couldn' t, so they packed
me off contrary to the law. Ah, well," he added,
" I have been in Siberia before — and didn't make a
long stay there either."

" Where do you come from? " asked one of the
other prisoners.

" From Vladimir, where I was a registered burgher.
My name is Makar, and my surname Semenovitch."

Aksenoff raised his head at this, and asked him :

" Did you ever hear, in Vladimir, of some merchants
called Aksenoff? Are they still alive? "

" How could I 7iot hear of them? They are
well-to-do people, although, unfortunately, their
father is in Siberia. He is in the same plight
as ourselves, in fact. But you — what was your
crime? "

Aksenoff was not fond of talking about his own
troubles, so he only sighed and said:

" I, for my sins, have now lived in penal servitude
for twenty-six years."

" But for what sins? " pursued Makar.

" For sins that earned me this," replied Aksenoff,
and would say no more. His comrades, however,
went on to tell Makar the story of a merchant being
murdered while travelling, of the knife being planted
upon Aksenoff, and of the latter's wrongful conviction
for the deed.

Though slow to Declare It 187

When IMakar heard this he stared at Akensoff,
clapped his hands to his knees, and exclaimed :

"Wonderful! Wonderful! But it has aged you,
little father, a good deal."

Yet, when asked what had surprised him so, and
whether he had ever seen Aksenoff before, he would
not answer, but merely said :

" It is marvellous, my friends, what meetings take
place in this world."

Immediately the idea occurred to Aksenoff that
possibly this man might know who had been the
actual murderer. So he said:

" Did you ever hear of this affair before, Semeno-
vitch, or see me before? "

" Did I ever hear of it before indeed? Why, the
world rang with it at the time. Still, it all happened
a long while ago, and if I heard much of it then, I have
forgotten much of it now."

" But did you ever chance to hear who really
murdered the merchant? " pursued Aksenoff.

Makar smiled as he said :

" The man who murdered him must have been the
man in whose bag the knife was found. If someone
had planted the knife on you, you would not have
been arrested (as you were) for the robbery as well.
Besides, to plant the knife on you, the murderer would
have had to stand by your very bedside, would he
not? — in which case you would have heard him."

As soon as Makar said this, Aksenoff began to sus-
pect that Makar himself had been the actual murderer.
He got up and moved away. All that night he could
not sleep. Restlessness had him in its grip, and he
began making mental pictures of the past. First
there presented herself to his vision his wife, looking
just as she had done when she saw him off for the last
time to the fair. He could see her before him as
though actually alive — could see her eyes and face,
could hear her laughing and talking to him. Then
he saw his children as they had been in those days —
little things, one of them in a tiny fur jacket, and the

1 88 God sees the Right

youngest one sucking at its mother's breast. Next
he pictured himself as he was then — young and high-
spirited. He remembered sitting on the verandah
and plajdng the guitar in the inn where he had been
arrested. How hght-hearted he was then! Next he
went on to recall the place of execution where he had
been flogged, the executioner, the crowd gathered
around, the fetters, the other convicts, all his twenty-
six years' life in prison, his old age. And such a
spasm of despair shook him that he almost laid hands
upon himself.

" And all because of that villain yonder," he
thought to himself. Indeed, at that moment, his
rage against Makar Semenovitch could almost have
driven him to fall upon the man and avenge himself
for ever. The whole night long he recited his prayers,
yet that could not calm him. Next day he never
went near Makar nor looked at him.

Two more weeks passed. Aksenoff could not sleep
at nights, and such restlessness would come upon him
that he hardly knew what to do with himself. One
night he was roaming about the prison when he saw
some earth being thrown out from under one of the
pallets. He stopped to look. Suddenlj' Makar
Semenovitch leapt from beneath the bed and glared
at him with a terrified air. Aksenoff was about to
pass on, to avoid looking at him, when Makar seized
him by the arm, and told him that he was digging a
passage under the walls. The earth, he said, he con-
veyed outside each day in his boot-tops, and got rid
of it on the roadway as they were being marched
to work.

" Say nothing about this," he went on, " and I will
take you with me; but if, on the other hand, you in-
form— well, I will never let you go until I have killed
you."

As Aksenoff looked upon the man who had wronged
him so terribly his whole form trembled with rage.
He withdrew his arm from the other's grasp and said:

" I have nothing to gain by escaping, nor could you

Though slow to Declare It 189

kill me again. You did that long ago. As to whether
or no I inform against you, that will be as God may
put it into my heart."

Next day, when the prisoners were being marched
to work, some soldiers noticed that Makar Semeno-
vitch was strewing earth upon the ground.' This led
to the prison being searched and the hole discovered.
The Go^'ernor arrived, and began to question every
man in turn, in the hope of finding out who had made
the hole. All of them denied it. Those who knew
the truth would not betray Makar, since they knew
that for such an offence as that he would be nearly
flogged to death. Then the Governor turned to
Aksenoff. He knew that Aksenoff was a truthful
man, and therefore said:

" Old man, you are one of those who speak the
truth. Tell me now, before God, who did this
thing."

Makar was standing by, looking as if he had had
nothing to do with it; yet he kept his eyes fixed
upon the Governor, and never glanced at Aksenoff.
Aksenoff's hands and lips were trembling, and it was
some time before he could get a word out. All the
while he was thinking to himself:

" If I shield him, I shall be pardoning the man who
ruined me. Why should I do that? Let him pay
at last for all my suffering. Yet, if I denounce him.
it means that he will be flogged. What, too, if my
suspicions of him should be wrong? And, in any
case, should I feel any the easier after it? "

The Governor spoke again. " Tell me the truth,
old man," he said. " Who dug this hole? "

Aksenoff looked for a moment at Makar and
answered :

" I cannot tell 3'ou, your Excellency. God does not
bid me do so, so I wUi not. Do with me as you please.
I am in your power."

And, in spite of all the Governor's threats,

' That being so, the reader may wonder how what follows ever
came to take place ; yet Tolstoi does not explain. — Translator.

IQO God sees the Right

Aksenoff would say nothing more ; so that they never
discovered who had dug the hole.

The same night, as Aksenoff was lying on his
pallet, half-asleep and half-awake, he heard someone
approach him and sit down at the foot of the bed.
He peered through the darkness and recognized
Makar.

" What more do you want with me? " he said.
" Why are you there at all? "

Makar returned no answer, so Aksenoff raised him-
self a little and repeated :

"What do 5^ou want? Away with you, or I will
call the soldiers! "

Then Makar leant over towards him and said in a
whisper :

" Ivan Dmitrievitch, pardon me! "

" Pardon you for what? " asked Aksenoff.

" Because it was I who murdered the merchant
and then planted the knife on you. I meant to
murder you too, but a noise arose in the courtyard,
and I thrust the knife into your bag and escaped out
of the window again."

Aksenoff said nothing, for, indeed, he knew not
what to say. Presently Makar slipped from the
pallet, crouched on the floor, and went on :

" Ivan Dmitrievitch, pardon me, pardon me, for
the love of God ! I am going to confess to the murder
of the merchant, and then they will pardon you and
let you go home."

But Aksenoff answered:

" It were easy enough for you to speak, yet what
could I suffer more? Moreover, where could I go?
My wife is dead, and my children will have forgotten
me. I should have nowhere for the sole of my foot
to rest."

Still crouching upon the floor, Makar beat his head
against it as he repeated :

" Ivan Dmitrievitch, pardon me, pardon me!
Even if I had been knouted, the blows would not
have hurt me as does the sight of you now. To think

Though slow to Declare It 191

that you could still have compassion upon me — and
would not say — ! Pardon me, for Christ's sake,
abandoned villain though I am! " — and he burst into
tears.

When Aksenoff heard Makar weeping he too wept
and said:

" May God pardon you! It may be that I am a
hundred times worse than you."

And on the instant his heart grew lighter. He
ceased to yearn for home, and felt as if he never
wished to leave the prison. All that he thought of
henceforth was his latter end.

Nevertheless, in spite of what Aksenoff had said,
Makar confessed to the murder. Yet, when the
ofiicial order came for Aksenoff to return home, he
had passed to the last home of all.

HOW THE LITTLE DEVIL ATONED FOR
THE CRUST OF BREAD

A POOR peasant went out to plough. He had had no
breakfast, and took with him only a crust of bread
for dinner. He canted the plough over, unfastened
the sheeting, laid it under a bush, placed the crust
on the top of it, and covered the whole over with his
coat.

By-and-b}^ the horse grew tired and the man
hungiy, so he stuck the nose of the plough into the
soil, unhitched the horse, turned it loose to graze,
and went to his coat to get his dinner. He lifted up
the coat — but, behold! no crust of bread! He
searched and searched about, turned the coat over
and shook it — and yet no crust. He was greatly
astonished. It seemed such a strange thing.

" I never saw anyone go and take it," he said to
himself. Yet, as a matter of fact, a little devil had
snatched the crust away while the peasant was plough-
ing, and sat himself down behind the bush to enjoy
hearing the peasant curse and swear at his loss.

The peasant was greatly disappointed, yet all he
said was: " Well, I shan't die of hunger. Whoever
took the crust must have needed it, so let him eat it
and good luck to him! "

Then he went to the well, had a drink of water,
and rested himself. After that he caught his horse,
reyoked it to the plough, and started ploughing again.
The little devil was greatly put out at not having led
the peasant into sin, and hied him off to Hell to see
the Chief Devil and tell him how he had carried ofi
the peasant's crust with no better results than to hear
the peasant bless the thief. The Chief Devil was
greatly annoyed.

" If," said he, " the peasant worsted you in this
affair it must have been your own fault entirely. You
cannot have gone the right way about it. It v/ill be

192

How the Little Devil Atoned 193

a bad look-out for us indeed if first the peasants, and
then their old women, adopt this non-swearing habit.
We shall not be able to live at all. Well, the matter
must not be left where it is. Go you up again," he
said, " and restore to the peasant his crust of bread:
and if within three years from this date you have not
got the better of him somehov/, I will souse you in
holy water."

Terrified by the bare mention of holy water, the
little devil scurried back to earth, where he fell to
thinking how he could best expiate his fault. He
thought and thought, and at last hit upon a plan.
He assumed the outward appearance of a pilgrim,
and entered the service of the peasant as a labourer.
He taught him first to provide against a dry summer
by sowing his seed in a swamp, so that when all the
other peasants' crops were being burnt up by the sun
our poor peasant's corn was still growing tall and thick
and its ears bursting with grain. Indeed, the peasant
lived upon that store of grain until the next season,
and yet had plenty to spare. The next summer the
" pilgrim " advised the poor peasant to sow his crop
on high ground. It turned out to be a very rainy
season, and while the other peasants' corn became
flooded or mildewed and never ripened, our peasant's
crop on the hill was a splendid one, and he was
left with more grain than he either needed or knew
what to do with.

Then the " ])ilgrim " induced the peasant to waste
his grain by distilling vodka from it. First he distilled
the liquor, and then he drank it, and then he treated
others to it. The little devil lost no time in rej)airing
to his principal and bragging to him that he had now
atoned for the matter of that crust of bread. So the
Chief Devil went up to look.

Arrived at the peasant's homestead, he found that
the owner had invited some rich peasants into the
hut, and was about to regale them with vodka, which
the goodwife was preparing to take round. Just
as she started to do so, however, she caught her foot

194 How the Little Devil

against the table and upset a glassful. The peasant
flew into a rage, and rated his wife soundly.

"Hi!" he said. "What a slop you have made!
To think of spilling all that good stuff upon the floor,
you clumsy-footed fool! "

The little devil nudged his superior. " Please
note," he said, " that it is not exactly crusts of bread
that he is regi'etting now."

Having chidden his wife, the peasant started to
take round the vodka himself. At this moment there
entered the hut a poor labourer, returned from work.
He entered uninvited, but nevertheless sat down and
greeted the company; until, suddenly perceiving
that the guests were drinking vodka, he began to long
for a drink too, for he was very tired. There he sat
and sat, with his mouth watering and watering — yet
the goodwife brought him nothing, and he could only
sit muttering under his breath: " My word, but they
take good care to keep it all to themselves! "

The Chief Devil was pleased enough with this, so
far as it went, but his subordinate said proudly:
" Wait a little, and you will see something better."

So the rich peasants drank their first glassful of
vodka, and their host did the same. Then they began
to catch hold of and flatter one another, and to speak
smooth, oily words.

The Chief Devil listened attentively, and com-
mended this too. " If," said he, " they can get so
foxy on this one glassful apiece, they will soon go on
to cheating one another — and then we have the lot
of them!"

" Yes, but wait and see what is to come next," said
the little devil. " You will see it, right enough, after
they have drunk their next glassful. At present
they are curling their brushes over their backs like
foxes, and trying to get the better of one another;
but see what truly wolfish brutes they will become
presently."

So the peasants had another glassful each, and their
talk grew more noisy and less civil. In place of oily

Atoned for the Crust of Bread 195

speeches they began to utter curses and threats, as
well as to strike one another and tweak one another's
noses. Their host too joined in the quarrel, and got
set upon by the rest.

The Chief Devil beheld this with delight. "It is
altogether excellent! " he cried. But the little devil
answered: "Wait until they have had their third
glassful. At present they are like angry wolves : but
only give them time — only let them drink a third
glassful — and you v/ill see them become sheer pigs."

So the peasants had a third glassful all round,
and grew completely fuddled. They clamoured and
shouted, without either knowing what they said
themselves or listening to what their companions
were saying. Finally, they all left the hut, and went
their several ways — some singly, some in twos, some
in threes, and all of them rolling about the roadway
as they walked. Their host stepped outside to speed
the parting guests, and immediately fell flat on his
nose in a puddle. Splashed from head to foot, he lay
there like a wild boar and grunted. The Chief Devil
was now in absolute raptures.

" This was a most splendid scheme you invented,"
he exclaimed to the little devil. " You have more
than atoned for that crust of bread. But tell me
now — How did you make this liquor? I take it your
first ingredient was fox's blood, to make the peasant
grow cunning; your next, wolf's blood, to make him
grow cruel; and your third, swine's blood, to make
him grow into a pig? "

" Not at all," rejoined the little devil. " The
recipe I used was quite a different one. I merely
made the peasant grow too much corn. That was all.
You see, the right stuff (that is to say, the blood of
wild beasts) was in him already — is always in him, in
fact — only it had no outlet so long as he grew corn
merely for food. There was a time, you may re-
member, when he did not even repine over the loss
of his only crust ; yet he had no sooner come to possess
a surplus of grain than he came also to cast about

196 How the Little Devil Atoned

how to divert himself. Then / stepped in — stepped
in and taught him a new diversion — namely, drink-
ing; with the result that, as soon as ever he had
distilled God's gift into idle liquor, there arose in
him both the fox's blood and the wolf's and the
pig's. And now that he has once tasted liquor, he
will remain a beast for ever."

The Chief Devil congratulated the little one
warmly, pardoned him for the crust of bread, and
awarded him promotion in the hierarchy of devils.

THE PENITENT SINNER

Once upon a time a man lived in the world for seventy
years, and lived all his life in sin. Then this man
fell sick, but did not repent — except that, when death
came to him in the last hour of all, he burst into tears
and cried: "O Lord, pardon me as Thou didst the
thief upon the cross." That was all he had time to
say before his soul departed. Yet the soul of that
sinner loved God, and trusted in His mercy, and thus
it came to the doors of Paradise.

And the sinner began to knock thereat and beseech
admittance to the Kingdom of Heaven. Then he
heard a voice from within the doors saying: " What
manner of man is this who is knocking at the doors
of Paradise, and what deeds hath he performed during
his lifetime? "

Then the voice of the Accuser answered, and re-
counted all the sinful deeds of the man, and named
no good ones at all.

Thereupon the voice from within the doors spoke
again. " Sinners," it said, " may not enter into the
Kingdom of Heaven. Depart thou hence."

And the man cried: " O Judge, thy voice I hear,
but thy face I cannot see, and thy name I do not
know."

And the voice answered: " I am Peter the
Apostle."

Then said the sinner: " Have compassion upon me,
O Peter the Apostle, and remember the weakness of
men and the mercy of God. Wert thou not a disciple
of Christ, and didst thou not hear from His own lips
Plis teaching, and didst thou not behold the example
of His life? Dost thou not remember also the time
when He was in agony of soul and did thrice ask of
thee why thou didst sleep and not pray, and yet thou
didst sleep, for thine eyes were heavy, and thrice He
found thee sleeping? "

197

198

The Penitent Sinner

" Dost thou not remember also how thou didst
promise Him that thou wouldst not deny Him unto
death, and 5^et how thou didst thrice deny Him
when He was brought before Caiaphas? Thus hath
it been with me."

" Dost thou not remember also how the cock did
crow, and thou didst go out and weep bitterly ? Thus
hath it been with me. Thou canst not deny me
admittance."

But the voice from within the doors of Paradise
was silent.

Then, after waiting a little while, the sinner began
once more to beseech admittance to the Kingdom of
Heaven. Thereupon a second voice was heard from
within the doors and said: "Who is this man, and
in what manner hath he lived in the world? "

The voice of the Accuser answered, and once more
recited all the evil deeds of the sinner, and named no
good ones.

Thereupon the voice ansvv^ered from within the
doors: "Depart thou hence. Sinners such as thou
may not live with us in Paradise."

But the sinner cried: " O Judge, thy voice I hear,
but thy face I cannot see, and thy name I do not
know."

Then the voice said to him: " I am King David the
Prophet." Yet the sinner would not desist nor leave
the doors, but cried again :

" Have compassion on me, 0 King David, and
remember the weakness of men and the mercy of God.
God loved thee and exalted thee above thy fellows.
Thou hadst all things — a kingdom, glory, riches,
wives, and children — yet didst thou look from thy
roof upon the wife of a poor man, and sin did enter into
thee, and thou didst take the wife of Uriah, and didst
slay Uriah himself with the sword of the Ammonites.
Thou, the rich man, didst take from the poor man his
one ewe lamb, and didst put the man himself to death.
Thus also hath it been with me."

" But dost thou not rememljer also how thou didst

The Penitent Sinner 199

repent and say — ' I acknowledge my transgressions,
and my sins are ever before me ' ? Thus is it with
me now. Thou canst not deny me admittance."

But the voice from within the doors of Paradise
was silent.

Then, after waiting a little while, the sinner began
once more to knock and beseech admittance to the
Kingdom of Heaven.

Thereupon a third voice was heard from within the
doors and said: " Who is this man, and in what
manner hath he lived in the world? "

And the voice of the Accuser answered, and for
the third time recited the evil deeds of the man, and
named no good ones.

Then the voice spoke again from within the doors.
" Depart thou thence," it said. " Sinners may not
enter into the Kingdom of Keaven."

But the sinner cried: " O Judge, thy voice I hear,
but thy face I cannot see, and thy name I do not
know."

And the voice answered: " I am John the Divine,
the disciple whom Jesus loved."

Then the sinner rejoiced and said: "Now canst
thou not deny me admittance. Peter and David
might have let me in because they know the weakness
of men and the mercy of God: but thou wilt let me in
because in thee there is abounding love. Didst not
thou, O John the Divine, write in thy book that God
is Love, and that whoso loveth not, the same knoweth
not God? Didst not thou in thy old age give to men
this saying — ' Brethren, love one another ' ? How,
therefore, canst thou hate me or drive me hence?
Either must thou love me and peld me admittance
to the Kingdom of Heaven, or thou must deny what
thou thyself hast said."

Then the doors of Paradise were opened, and John
received the penitent sinner, and adniitted him to the
Kingdom of Heaven.

THE SNOW-STORM '

Translated bv Constance Garneft

It was past six o'clock in the evening, after drinking
tea, that I set out from a posting-station, the name of
which I have forgotten, though I remember that it
was somewhere in the Don Cossack district, near
Novotcherkask. It was quite dark as I wrapped
myself in my fur cloak and fur rug and settled myself
beside Alyoshka in the sledge. Under the lee of the
station-house it seemed wann and still. Though
there was no snow falling, there was not a star to be
seen overhead, and the sky seemed extraordinarily
low and black in contrast with the pure, snowy plain
stretched out before us.

As soon as we had driven out of the village, passing
the dark figures of some windmills, one of which was
clumsily waving its great sails, 1 noticed that the road
was heavier and thicker with snow, and the wind began
to blow more keenly on my left, tossed the horses'
tails and manes on one side, and persistently lifted
and blew away the snow as it was stirred up by the
sledge-runners and the horses' hoofs. The tinkle of
the bell died away, a draught of cold air made its way
through some aperture in my sleeve and blew down
my back, and I recalled the advice of the overseer of
the station that I should do better not to start that
night, or I might be out all night and get frozen on
the way.

"Don't you think we might get lost?" I said to
the driver. But receiving no reply, I put the question
more definitely, " What do you say, shall we reach the
next station? Shan't we lose the way? "

" God knows," he answered, without turning his
' This stcwy is printed by the kind permission of Mr W. Heinemann.
200

The Snow-Storm 201

head. " How it drives along the ground! Can't see
the road a bit. Lord, 'a' mercy! "

" Well, but you tell me, do you expect to get to the
next station or not? " I persisted in inquiring. " Shall
we manage to get there? "

" We've got to get there," said the driver, and he
said something more which I could not catch in the
wind.

I did not want to turn back; but to spend the night
driving in the frost and the snow-storm about the
absolutely desolate steppe of that part of the Don
Cossack district was a very cheerless prospect. And
although in the dark I could not see my driver dis-
tinctly, I somehow did not take to him, and felt no
confidence in him. He was sitting Vv'ith his legs hang-
ing down before him exactly in the middle of his seat
instead of on one side. His voice sounded listless;
he wore a big hat with a wavering brim, not a coach-
man's cap, and besides he did not drive in correct
style, but held the reins in both hands, like a footman
who has taken the coachman's place on the box. And
what prejudiced me most of all was that he had tied
a kerchief over his ears. In short, the serious, bent
back before my eyes impressed me unfavourably and
seemed to promise no good.

" Well, I think it would be better to turn back,"
said Alyoshka; " it's poor fun being lost."

"Lord, 'a' mercy! how the snow is flying; no
chance of seeing the road; one's eyes choked up
entirely. . . . Lord, 'a' mercy! " grumbled the
driver.

We had not driven on another quarter of an hour,
when the driver, pulling up the horses, handed the*
reins to Alyoshka, clumsily extricated his legs from
the box, and walked off to look for the road, his big
boots crunching in the snow.

" Where are you going? Are we off the road, eh? "
I inquired, but the driver did not answer. Turning
his head to avoid the wind, which was cutting straight
in his face, he walked away from the sledge.

202 The Snow-Storm

" Well, found it? " I questioned him again, when
he had come back.

" No, nothing," he said with sudden impatience and
annoyance, as though I were to blame for his having
got off the road, and deliberately tucking his big feet
back again under the box, he picked up the reins with
his frozen gloves.

" What are we going to do? " I asked, as we started
again.

" Whdit are we to do? Go whither God leads us."

And we drove on at the same slow trot, unmistak-
ably on no sort of road; at one moment in snow that
was soft and deep, and the next over brittle, bare
ice.

Although it was so cold, the snow on my fur collar
melted very quickly; the drifting snow blew more and
more thickly near the ground, and a few flakes of
frozen snow began falling overhead.

It was evident that we were going astray, because
after driving another quarter of an hour we had not
seen a single verst post.

" Come, what do you think," I asked the driver
again, " can we manage to get to the station? "

"To which station? . . . We shall get back all
right if we let the horses go as they please, they'll
take us there; but I doubt our getting to the other
station ; only lose our lives, may be."

" Well, then let us go back," said I. " And
really. ..."

" Turn back then? " repeated the driver.

" Yes, 3'es, turn back! "

Tlie driver let the reins go. The horses went at
a better pace, and though I did not notice that we
turned round, the wind changed and soon the mills
could be seen through the snow. The driver plucked
up his spirits and began talking. " The other day
they were driving back from the next station like this
in a snow-storm," said he, " and they spent the night
in some stacks and only arrived next morning. And
a good job they did get into the stacks, or they'd have

The Snow-Storm 203

all been clean frozen to death — it was a frost. As it
was, one had his feet frost-bitten; and he died of it
three weeks after."

" But now it's not so cold and the wind
seems dropping," said I; " couldn't we manage
it?"

" Warmer it may be, but the snow's drifting just
the same. Now it's behind us, so it seems a bit quieter,
but it's blowing hard. We might have to go if we'd
the mail or anything; but it's a different matter going
of our own accord; it's no joke to let one's fare freeze.
What if I've to answer for your honour afterwards.? "

II

At that moment we heard the bells of several sledges
behind us, overtaking us at a smart pace.

" It's the mail express bell," said my driver;
" there's only one like that at the station."

And certainly the bells of the foremost sledge were
particularly fine; their clear, rich, mellow and some-
what jangled notes r ached us distinctly on the wind.
As I learned after\\'ards, it was a set of bells such as
sportsmen have on their sledges — three bells, a big
one in the middle, with a " ra pberry note," as it is
called, and two little bells pitched at the interval of
a third up and down the scale. The cadence of these
thirds and the jangling fifth ringing m the air was
uncommonly striking and strangely sweet in the
desolate dumb steppe.

" It's the post," said my driver, when the foremost
of the three sledges was level with us. " How's the
road, can one get along? " he shouted to the hindmost
of the drivers; but the latter only shouted to his
horses without answering him.

The music of the bells quickly died away in the
wdnd as soon as the post had passed us. I suppose
my driver felt ashamed.

" Suppose we go on, sir! " he said to me; " folks

204 The Snow-Storm

have driven along the road, and now their tracks will
be fresh."

I assented and we turned, facing the wind again,
and pushing on through the deep snow. I watched
the road at the side, that we might not go off the
tracks made by the sledges. For two versts their
track was distinctlv visible; then only a slight un-
evenness could be detected below the runners, and
soon I was utterly unable to say whether there was
a track or simply a crease blown by the wind in the
snow. My eyes were dazed by watching the snow
flying monotonously by under our runners, and I
began looking straight before me. The third verst
post we saw, but the fourth we could not find; just
as before we drove against the wind and with the
wind, to the right and to the left, and at last things
came to such a pass that the driver said we were too
much to tlie right; I said too much to the left; and
Alyoshka maintained that we were going straight
back. Again we pulled up several times, and the
driver extricated his long legs and clambered out to
seek the road, but always in vain. I, too, got out once
to see whether something I fancied I descried might
not be the road. But scarcely had I struggled six
steps against the wind and satisfied myself that there
was nothing but regular, uniform white drifts of snow
everywhere, and that I had seen the road only in
imagination, when I lost sight of the sledge. I shouted
" Driver! Alyoshka! " but my voice I felt was caught
up by the wind out of my very mouth and in one
second carried far away from me. I went in the direc-
tion where the sledge had been — there was no sledge
there. I went to the right, it was not there. I am
ashamed when I remember the loud, shrill, almost
despairing, voice in which I shouted once more,
" Driver! " when he was only a couple of paces from
me. His black figure, with his whip and his huge hat
flapping down on one side, suddenly started up before
me. He led me to the sledge.

" We must be thankful, too, that it's warm," said

The Snovv-Storm 205

he; " if the frost gets sharp, it's a bad look-out. . . .
Lord, 'a' mercy! "

" Let the horses go, let them take us back," I said,
settling myself in the sledge. " They'll take us back,
driver, eh? "

" They ought to."

He put down the reins, gave the shaft horse three
strokes about the pad with his whip, and we started
off again. We drove for another half-hour. All at
once we heard ahead of us bells, which I recognised
as the sportsman's set of bells, and two others. But
this time the bells were coming to meet us. The same
three sledges, having delivered the post, were return-
ing to their station with their change of horses tied
on behind. The three stalwart horses of the express
sledge with the sporting bells galloped swiftly in front.
There was only one driver in it. He was sitting on
the box-seat, shouting briskly and frequently to his
horses. Behind, in the inside of the emptied sledge,
there were a couple of drivers; we could hear their
loud, cheerful talk. One of them was smoking a pipe,
and its spark, glowing in the wind, lighted up part of
his face. Looking at them I felt ashamed of having
been afraid to go on, and ray driver must have had
the same feeling, for with one voice we said, " Let us
follow them."

Ill

Without waiting for the hindmost sledge to get by,
my driver began turning awkwardly and ran his
shafts into the horses tied on at the back of it. One
team of three started aside, broke their rein, and
galloped away.

" Ah, the cross-eyed devil doesn't see where he's
turning to — right into people! . . . The devil!"
scolded a short driver in a husky, cracked voice — an
old man, as I inferred from his voice and figure. He
jumped nimbly out of the hindmost sledge and ran

2o6 The Snow-Storm

after the horses, still keeping up his coarse and cruel
abuse of my driver.

But the horses would not let themselves be caught.
The old man ran after them, and in one moment horses
and man vanished in the white darkness of the snow-
storm.

" Vassily — y! give us the bay here; there's no
catching them like this," he heard his voice again.

One of the drivers, a very tall man, got out of the
sledge, unyoked his three horses, pulled himself up
by the head on to one of them, and crunching over
the snow at a shuffling gallop vanished in the same
direction.

In company with the two other sledges we pushed
on without a road, following the express sledge, which
ran ahead at full gallop with its ringing bells.

" What! he catch them! " said my driver, refemng
to the man who had run to catch the horses. " If it
won't join the other horses of itself — it's a vicious
beast — it'll lead him a fine dance, and he won't catch
it."

From the time that he turned back, my driver
seemed in better spirits and was more conversational,
and as I was not sleepy I did not fail of course to take
advantage of it. I began asking him where he came
from, how he came here, and what he was; and soon
learned that he was from my province, a Tula man, a
serf from the village of Kirpitchny, that they had too
little land, and that the corn had given up yielding
any crop at all ever since the cholera year. There
were two brothers at home, a third had gone for a
soldier; they hadn't bread enough to last till Christ-
mas, and lived on what they could earn. His younger
brother, he told me, was the head of the house because
he was married, while he himself was a widower.
Every year gangs of men from his village came here
as drivers, though he hadn't himself ever been a
driver before; but now he had gone into the posting
service so as to be a help to his brother. That he
earned, thank God, one hundred and twenty roubles

The Snow-Storm 207

a year here, and sent a hundred of them home, and
that it would be a pleasant life, too, " but the mail
men were a brutal lot, very, and, indeed, all the people
in these parts were a rough lot."

"Now, why did that driver abuse me? Lord, 'a'
mercy on us! Did I set the horses loose on purpose?
Am I a man to do anyone a mischief? And what did
he gallop after them for? They'd have got home by
themselves. He's only wearing out his horses, and
he'll be lost himself too," repeated the God-fearing
peasant.

" And what's that blackness? " I asked, noticing
several black objects ahead of us.

" Why, a train of waggons. That's a pleasant way
of travelling! " he went on, as we overtook the huge
waggons on wheels, covered with hemp sacking,
following one another. " Look, not a man to be seen
— they're all asleep. The clever mare knows the way
of herself, there's no making her stray off the road. . . .
I've driven with a train of waggons too," he added,
" so I know."

Truly it was strange to look at those huge waggons,
covered with snow from their sacking top down to
the wheels, moving along quite alone. But in the
comer of the foremost the snow-covered sacking was
lifted a little on two fingers, and a cap emerged from
it for an instant when our bells were ringing close to
the waggons. The big, piebald horse, stretching its
neck and dragging with its back, stepped evenly along
the completely buried road, and rhythmically shook
its shaggy head under the whitened yoke. It pricked
up one snowy ear as we came up to it.

After we had driven on another half-hour, my
driver addressed me again.

" Well, what do you think, sir, are we going right? "

" I don't know," I answered.

" The wind was this way, sir, before, but now we're
going with our backs to the weather. No, we're not
going the right way, we're astray again," he concluded
with complete serenity.

2o8 The Snow-Storm

It was clear that though he was very timorous, even
death, as they say, is pleasant in company; he had
become perfectly composed since we were a large
party, and he had not to be the guide and responsible
person. With great coolness he made observations
on the mistakes of the driver of the foremost sledge,
as though he had not the slightest interest in the
matter. I did notice, indeed, that the foremost sledge
was sometimes visible in profile on my left, sometimes
on the right; it positively seemed to me as though
we were going round in a very small space. This
might, however, have been an illusion of the
senses, just as sometimes it looked to me as though
the first sledge were driving up-hill, or along a
slope, or downhill, though the steppe was everywhere
level.

We had driven on a good while longer, when I dis-
cerned— far away, it seemed to me, on the very horizon
— a long black moving streak. But a minute later it
was evident to me that this was the same train of
waggons we had overtaken before. Just as before,
the snow lay on the creaking wheels, some of which
did not turn at all, indeed. As before, all the men
were asleep under the sacking covers, and as before,
the piebald horse in front, with inflated nostrils,
sniffed out the road and pricked up its ears.

" There, we've gone round and round, and we've
come back to the same waggons again! " said my
driver in a tone of dissatisfaction. " The mail horses
are good ones, and so he can drive them in this mad
way; but ours will come to a dead stop if we g / on
like this all ni^ht."

He cleared his throat.

" Let us turn back, sir, before we come to harm."

" What for? Why, we shall get somewhere."

" Get somewhere! Why, we shall spend the night
on the steppe. How the snow does blow ! . . Lord,
'a' mercy on us! "

Though I was surprised that the foremost driver,
who had obviously lost both the road and the direc-

The Snow-Storm 209

tion, did not attempt to look for the road, but calling
merrily to his horses drove on still at full trot, I did
not feel inclined now to drop behind the other sledges.

" Follow them! " I said.

My driver went on, but he drove the horses now
with less eagerness than before, and he did not address
another syllable to me.

IV

The storm became more and more violent, and fine
frozen snow was falling from the sky. It seemed as
though it were beginning to freeze; my nose and
cheeks felt the cold more keenly ; more often a draught
of cold air crept in under my fur cloak, and I had to
wrap myself up more closely. From time to time the
sledge jolted over a bare, broken crust of ice where
the snow had blown away. Though I was much in-
terested in seeing how our wanderings would end, yet,
as I had been travelling six hundred versts without
stopping for a night, I could not help shutting my
eyes and I dropped into a doze. Once when I opened
my eyes, I was struck by what seemed to me for the
first minute the bright light shed over the white plain.
The horizon had grown noticeably wider; the black,
lowering sky had suddenly vanished; on all sides
one could see the white, slanting lines of falling snow ;
the outlines of the horses of the front sledge were more
distinctly visible, and when I ooked upwards it seemed
to me for the first minute that the storm-clouds had
parted and that only the falling snow hid the sky.
While I had been dozing, the moon had risen and cast
its cold, bright light through the thin clouds and fall-
ing snow. All that I could see distinctly was my own
sledge with the horse and driver and tlie three sledges
with their horses ahead of us. In the first, the mail
sledge, the one driver still sat on the box driving his
horses at a smart trot. In the second there were two
men, who, letting go their reins and making themselves
p

210 The Snow-Storm

a shelter out of a cloak, were all the time smoking a
pipe, as we coiTld see from the gleaming sparks. In
the third sledge no one was to be seen ; the driver v/as
presumably asleep in the middle of it. The driver
in front had, when I waked, begun stopping his horses
and looking for the road. Then, as soon as we stopped
the howling of the wind became more audible, and
the astoundingly immiense mass of snow driving in
the air was m.ore evident to me. I could see in the
moonlight, veiled by the drifting snow, the short
figure of the driver holding a big whip with which he
v/as trying the snow in front of him. He moved back-
wards and forvv'ards in the white darkness, came back
to the sledge again, jumped sidewaj's on the front seat,
and again through the monotonous whistling of the
wind we could hear his jaunty, musical calling to his
horses and the ringing of the bells. Every tune that
the front driver got out to search for signs of the road
or of stacks, a brisk self-confident voice from the
second sledge shouted to him :

" I say, Ignashka, we've gone right off to the left!
Keep more to the right, avv'ay from the storm." Or,
" Why do you go round and round like a fool? Go
the way of the snow, you'll get there all right." Or,
" To the right, go on to the right, my lad ! See, there's
something black — a verst post may be." Or, " What
are you pottering about for? Unyoke the piebald
and let him go first; he'll bring you on the road in a
trice. That'll be the best plan."

The man who gave this advice did not himself un-
yoke the trace-horse, nor get out into the snow to look
for the road; he did not so much as poke his nose out
beyond the shelter of the cloak, and when Ignashka,
in reply to one of his counsels, shouted to him that
he'd better ride on in front himself as he knew which
way to go, the giver of good advice answered that,
if he were driving the mail horses, he would ride on
and would soon bring them on to the road. " But
our horses ^^'on't lead the way in a storm ! " he shouted;
" they're not that sort! "

The Snow-Storm 211

"Don't meddle then!" answered Ignashka
whistling merrily to his horses.

The other driver, sitting in the same sledge as the
counsellor, said nothing to Ignashka, and refrained
altogetlier from taking part in the proceedings, though
he was not yet asleep, as I concluded from his still
glowing pipe, and from the fact that when we stopped
I heard his regular, continuous talk. He was telhng
a tale. Only once, when Ignashka stopped for the
sixth or se^'enth time, apparently vexed at the in-
terruption in his enjoj'ment of the drive, he shouted
to him:

" Why, what are you stopping again for?
Tiying to find the road, indeed! Don't you see,
there's a snow-storm! The land-surveyor himself
couldn't find the road now! you should drive on as
long as the horses will go. We shan't freeze to death,
I don't suppose. . . . Do go on! "

" I daresay! A postilion was frozen to death last
year, sure enough! " my driver retorted.

The man in the third sledge did not wake up all the
time. Only once, while we were halting, the counsellor
shouted :

" Filip, ay . . . FiHp! " And receiving no reply,
he remarked, " I say, he's not frozen, is he? . . .
You'd better look, Ignashka."

Ignashka, who did everything, went up to the sledge
and began to poke the sleeper.

" I say, one drink has done for him. If you're
frozen, just say so! " he said, shaking him.

The sleeping man muttered some words of
abuse.

" Alive, lads! " said Ignashka, and he ran ahead
again, and again we drove on, and so fast indeed that
the little sorrel trace-horse of my sledge, who was con-
stantly being lashed about its tail, more than once
broke into a clumsy gallop.

212 The Snow-Storm

It was, I think, about midnight when the old man and
Vassil)^ who had gone in pursuit of the strayed horses,
rode up to us. They had caught the horses, and found
and overtook us. But liow they managed to do this
in the dark, blinding bhzzard, across the bare steppe,
has always remained a mystery to me. The old man,
with his elbows and legs jogging, trotted up on the
shaft-horse (the other two horses were fastened to the
3/oke; horses cannot be left loose in a blizzard). On
overtaking us, he began railing at my driver again.

" You see, \^ou cross-eyed devil, what a . . ."

" Hey, Uncle Mitri :ch," shouted the story-teller
from the second sledge, " alive are you? . . . Come
in to us."

But the old man, making no answer, went on scold-
ing. When he judged he had said enough, he rode
up to the second sledge,

" Caught them all? " was asked him from the
sledge.

" I should think so! "

And his little figure bent forward with his breast
on the horse's back while it was at full trot; then he
slipped off into the snow, and without stopping an
instant ran after the sledge, and tumbled into it, pull-
ing his legs up over the side. The tall Vassily seated
himself as before, in silence, in the front sledge with
Ignashka, and began looking for the road with him.

" You see what an abusive fellow . . . Lord 'a'
mercy on us! " muttered my driver.

For a long while after this we drove on without a
halt over the white wilderness, in the cold, luminous,
and flickering twilight of the snow-storm.

1 open my eyes. The same clumsy cap and back,
covered with snow, are standing up in front of me;
the same low-arched yoke, under which, between the
tight leather reins, the head of the shaft-horse shakes
up and down always at the same distance away, with

The Snow-Storm 213

its black mane blown rhythmically by the wind in one
direction. Over its back on the right there is a glimpse
of the bay trace-horse with its tail tied up short and
the swinging bar behind it knocking now and then
against the framework of the sledge. If I look down
— the same cmnching snow torn up by the sledge
runners, and the wind persistently lifting it and carry-
ing it off, always in the same direction. In front the
foremost sledge is nmning on, always at the same
distance; on the right and left everything is white
and wavering. In vain the eye seeks some new ob-
ject; not a post, not a stack, not a hedge — nothing to
be seen. Everywhere all is white, white and moving.
At one moment the horizon seems inconceivably re-
mote, at the next closed in, two paces away on all sides.
Suddenly a high, white wall shoots up on the right,
and runs alongside the sledge, then all at once it
vanishes and springs up ahead, to flee further and
further away, and vanish again. One looks upwards;
it seems light for the first minute — one seems to see
stars shining through a mist ; but the stars fly further
and further away from the sight, and one can see
nothing but the snow, which falls past the eyes into
the face and the collar of one's cloak. Everywhere
the sky is equally light, equally white, colourless,
alike and ever moving. The wind seems to shift; at
one time it blows in our faces and glues our eyes up
with snow, then teasingly it flings one's fur collar on
one's head and flaps it mockingly in one's face, then
it drones behind in some chink of the sledge. One
hears the faint, never-ceasing crunch of hoofs and
runners over the snow, and the jingle of the beUs,
dying down as we drive over deep snow. Only at
times when we are going against the wind and over
some bare, frozen headland, Ignashka's vigorous
whistling and the melodious tinkle of the bells with
the jangling fifth float clearly to one's hearing, and
these sounds make a comforting break in the desolate-
ness of the snowy waste, and then again the bells fall
back into the same monotonous jingle, with intolerable

214 The Snow-Storm

correctness ringing ever the same phrase, which I can-
not help picturing to m3'self in musical notes.

One of my legs began to get chilled, and when I
turned over to wTap myself up closer, the snow on
my collar and cap slipped down mj^ neck and made
me shiver; but on the whole, in my fur cloak, warmed
through by the heat of my body, I still kept warm and
was beginning to feel drows}'.

VI

Memories and fancies followed one another with in-
creased rapidity in my imagination.

'' The counsellor, that keeps on calling out advice
from the second sledge, what sort of peasant is he
likely to be? Sure to be a red-haired, thick-set fellow
with short legs," I tliought, " somewhat like Fyodor
Filippitch, our old butler." And then I see the stair-
case of our great house and five house-serfs, who are
stepping heavily, dragging along on strips of coarse
linen a piano from the lodge. I see Fyodor Fillip-
pitch, with the sleeves of his nankin coat turned up,
carrying nothing but one pedal, iiinning on ahead,
pulling open bolts, tugging at a strip of linen here,
shoving there, creeping between people's legs, getting
in everyone's w'ay, and in a voice of anxiety shouting
assiduously :

" You now, in front, in front! That's it, the tail
end upwa ds, upwards, upwards, through the door-
way! That's it."

" You only let us be, Fyodor Filippitch, we'll do it
by ourselves," timidly ventured the gardener, squeezed
against the banisters, and red with exertion, as,
putting out all his strength, he held up one corner of
the piano.

But Fyodor Filippitch would not desist.

" And what is it? " I reflected. " Does he suppose
he's necessary to the business in hand, or is he simply
pleased God has given him that conceited, convincing

The Snovv-Stonii 215

flow of words and enjoys the exercise of it? That's
what it must be."

And for some reason I recall the pond, and the tired
house-serfs, knee-deep in the water, dragging the
draw-net, and again Fyodor Filippitch running along
the bank with tlie watering-pot, shouting to all of
them, and only approaching the water at intervals
to take hold of the golden carp, to let out the muddy
water, and to pour over them fresh.

And again it is midday in July. I am wandering
over the freshly-mown grass of the garden, under the
burning sun straight above my head. I am still very
young; there is an emptiness, a yearning for some-
thing in my heart. I walk to my favourite spot near
the pond, between a thicket of wild rose and the birch-
tree avenue, and lie down to go to sleep. I remember
the sensation with which, as I lay there, I looked
through the red, thorny stems of the rose at the black
earth, dried into little clods, and at the shining,
bright blue mirror of the pond. It was with a feeling
of naive self-satisfaction and melanclioly. Every-
thing around me was so beautiful ; its beauty had such
an mtense effect on me that it seemed to me I was
beautiful myself, and my only vexation was that there
was no one to admire me.

It is hot. I try to console myself by going to sleep.
But the flies, the intolerable flies, will not even here
give me any peace ; they begin to gather together about
me and persistently, stolidly, as it were like pellets, they
shoot from forehead to hand. A bee buzzes not far
from me, right in the hottest spot; yellow butterflies
flutter languidly, it seems, from stalk to stalk. I
look upwards, it makes my eyes ache; the sun is too
dazzling through the bright foliage of the leafy birch
tree, that gently sv/ings its branches high above me,
and I feel hotter than ever. I cover my face with my
handlcerchief ; it becomes stifling, and the flies simply
stick to my moist hands. Sparrows are twittering
in the thickest of the clump of roses. One of them
hops on the ground a yard from me ; twice he makes a

2i6 The Snow-Storm

feint of pecking vigorously at the earth, and with a
snapping of twigs and a merry chirrup flies out of the
bush. Another, too, hops on the ground, perks up
his tail, looks round, and with a clurrup he too flies
out like an arrow after the first. From the pond
come the sounds of wet linen being beaten with
washing-bats in the water, and the blows seem to echo
and be carried over the surface of the pond. There
is the sound of laughter, chatter, and the splashing of
bathers. A gust of wind rustics in the tree-tops at a
distance ; it comes closer, and I hear it ruffling up the
grass, and now the leaves of the wild roses tremble
and beat upon the stems ; and now it lifts the comer
of the handkerchief and a fresh breath of air passes
over me, tickling my moist face. A fly flies in under
the lifted kerchief and buzzes in a frightened way
about my damp mouth. A dead twig sticks into me
under my spine. No, it's no good lying down; I'll
go and have a bathe. But suddenly, close to my nook,
I hear humed footsteps and the frightened voices of
women.

" Gh, mercy on us! What can we do! and not a
man here! "

" What is it, what is it? " I ask, running out into
the sunshine and addi"essing a serf- woman, who runs
past me, groa.ning. She simply looks round, wrings
her hands and runs on. But here comes Matrona, an
old woman of seventy, holding on her kerchief as it
falls back off her head, limping and dragging one leg
in a worsted stocking, as she runs towards the pond.
Two little girls run along, hand in hand, and a boy of
ten, wearing his father's coat, hurries behind, clinging
to the hempen skirt of one of them.

" What has happened? " I inquire of them.

" A peasant is drowning."

"Where?"

" In oiu- pond."

" Who? one of ours? "

" No; a stranger."

The coachman Ivan, strugglmg over the newly-

The Snow-Storm 217

mown grass in his big boots, and the stout bailiff,
Yakov, breathing hard, run towards the pond, and I
run after them.

I recall the feeling that said to me, " Come, jump
in, and pull out the man, save him, and they will all
admire you," which was just what I was desiring.

" Where? where is he? " I ask of the crowd of
house-serfs gathered together on the bank.

" Over yonder, near the deepest pool, towards that
bank, almost at the bath-house," says a washerwoman,
getting in her wet linen on a \^oke. " I saw him plunge
in; and he comes up so and goes down again, and
comes up again and screams, ' I'm drowning, mercy! '
and again he went down to the bottom, and only
bubbles came up. Then I saw the man was drown-
ing. And I yelled, ' Mercy on us, the peasant's
drowning! ' "

And the washei'woman hoists the yoke on to her
shoulder, and bending on one side, walks along the
path away from the pond.

"My word, what a shame! " says Yakov Ivanov,
the bailiff, in a voice of despair: " what a to-do we
shall have now with the district court — we shall
never hear the last of it! "

A peasant with a scythe makes his way through the
throng of women, children, and old people crowding
about the bank, and hanging his scythe in the branches
of a willow, begins deliberately pulling off his boots.

" Where, where did he sink? " I keep on asking,
longing to throv/ m5^self in and do something extra-
ordinary.

But they point to the smooth surface of the pond,
broken into ripples here and there by the rushing
wind. It is inconceivable to me that he is drowned
while the water stands just as smooth and beautiful
and untroubled over him, shining with glints of gold
in the midday sun, and it seems to me that I can do
nothing, can astonish no one, esj:)ecially as I am a
very poor swimmer. And the peasant is already
pulling his shirt over his head, and in an instant will

2i8 The Snow-Storm

plunge in. Everyone watches him with hope and a
sinking heart; but when he has waded in up to his
shoulders, the peasant slowly turns back and puts on
his shirt again — he cannot swim.

People still run up; the crowd gets bigger and
bigger; the women cling to each other; but no one
does anj^thing to help. Those who have only just
reached the pond give advice, and groan, and their
faces express hon^or and despair. Of those who l:ad
arrived on the scene earlier some, tired of standing,
sit down on the grass ; others go back. Old Matrona
asks her daughter whetlier she has shut the door of the
oven; the boy in his father's coat flings stones with
careful aim into the pond.

But now Trezorka, Fyodor Filippitch's dog, comes
running down-liill from the house, barking and look-
ing round in perplexity; and the figure of F5'odor
himself, running down the hill and shouting some-
thing, comes into sight behind the thicket of wild
rose.

" Why are you standing still? " he shouts, taking
off his coat as he runs. " A man's drowning, and they
do nothing. . . . Give us a cord! "

All gaze in hope and dread at Fyodor Filippitch,
while leaning on the shoulder of an obliging house-
serf he kicks off his right boot with the tip of his left
one.

"Over there, where the crowd is; over there, a
little to the right of the willow, Fyodor Filippitch,
over there," says someone.

" I know," he answers, and knitting his brov/s,
probably in acknowledgment of sj^mptoms of out-
raged delicacy in the crowd of women, he takes off
his shirt and his cross, handing the latter to the
gardener's boy, who stands obsequiously before him.
Then, stepping vigorously over the mown grass, he
goes to the pond.

Trezorka, who had stood still near the crowd, eat-
ing some blades of grass from the water's edge, and
smacking his lips, loolcs inquiringly at his master.

The Snow-Storm 219

wondering at the rapidity of his movements. All
at once, with a whine of delight, he plunges with his
master into the water. For the first minute there
is nothing to be seen but frothing bubbles, which float
right up to us. But soon Fyodor Filippitch is seen
swimming smartly towards the further bank, his arms
making a graceful sweep, and his back rising and sink-
ing regularly at every fathom's length. Trezorka,
after swallowing a mouthful of water, hurriedly turns
back, shakes himself in the crowd, and rolls on his
back on the bank. While Fyodor Filippitch is
s\vimming towards the further bank, the t\^'o coach-
men run round to the willow with a net rolled round a
pole. Fyodor Filippitch, for some reason or other,
raises his hands above his head, and dives, once,
tv/ice, thrice; every time a stream of water runs out
of his mouth, he tosses his hair with a fine gesture,
and makes no reply to the questions which are showered
upon him from all sides. At last he comes out on
the bank, and, as far as I can see, simply gives orders
for the casting of the net. The net is drawn up, but
in it there is nothing except weed and a few carp
struggling in it. While the net is being cast a second
time, I walk round to that side.

Nothing is to be heard but the voice of F5''odor
Filippitch giving directions, the splashing of the water
through the wet cords, and sighs of horror. The wet
cordage fastened to the right beam is more and more
thickly covered with weed, as it comes further and
further out of the water.

" Now pull together, all at once! " shouts the voice
of Fyodor Filippitch. The butt-ends of the beams
come into view covered with water.

" There is something; it pulls heavy, lads," says
someone.

And now the beams of the net in which two or three
carp struggle, splashing and crushing the weed, are
dragged on to the bank. And through the shallow,
shifting layer of muddy water something white comes
into sight in the tightly-strained net. A sigh of

220 The Snow-Storm

horror passes over the crowd, subdued but distinctly
audible in the deathlike stillness.

" Pull all together, pull it on to dry land! " cries
Fyodor Filippitch's resolute voice. And with the
iron hook they drag the drowned man over the
cropped stalks of dock and agrimony towards the
willow.

And here I see my kind old aunt in her silk gown;
I see her fringed, lilac parasol, which seems somehow
oddly incongruous with this scene of death, so awful
in its simplicity. I see her face on the point of shed-
ding tears. I recall her look of disappointment that
in this case arnica could be of no use, and I recall the
painful sense of mortification I had when she said to
me with the naive egoism of love, " Let us go, my
dear. Ah, how awful it is! And you will always go
bathing and swimming alone! "

I remember how glaring and hot the sun was,
baking the dry earth that crumbled under our feet;
how it sparkled on the mirror of the pond; how the
big carp struggled on the bank; how a shoal of fish
dimpled the pond's surface in the middle; how a
hawk floated high up in the sky, hovering over the
ducks, who swam quacking and splashing among the
reeds in the centre of the water; how the white, curly
storm-clouds gathered on the horizon; how the mud
brought on to the bank by the net gradually slipped
away; and how, as I crossed the dike, I heard the
sounds of the washing-bat floating across the pond.

But the blows of the bat ring out as though there
were two bats and another chiming in, a third lower
in the scale; and that sound frets me, worries me,
especially as I loiow the bat is a bell, and Fyodor
Filippitch can't make it stop. And the bat, like an
instrument of torture, is crushing my leg, which is
chilled. I wake up.

I was waked up, it seemed to me, by our galloping
very swiftly, and two voices talking quite close beside
me.

" I say, Ignat, eh . . . Ignat! " said the voice of

The Snow-Storm 221

my driver; "take my fare; you've got to go anyway,
and why should I go on for nothing — take him! "

The voice of Ignat close beside me answered:

" It's no treat for me to have to answer for a
passenger. . . . Will you stand me a pint bottle of
vodka ? "

" Go on with your pint bottle! ... A dram, and
I'll say done."

" A dram! " shouted another voice : " a likely idea !
tire your horses for a dram! "

I opened my e3^es. Still the same insufferable waver-
ing snow floating before one's eyes, the same drivers
and horses, but beside me I saw a sledge. My driver
had overtaken Ignat, and we had been for some time
moving alongside. Although the voice from the other
sledge advised him not to accept less than a pint,
Ignat all at once pulled up his horses.

"Move the baggage in! Done! it's your luck.
Stand me a dram when we come to-morrow. Have
you much baggage, eh? "

My driver jumped out into the snow with an alacrity
quite unlike him, bowed to me, and begged me to get
into Ignat's sledge. I was perfectly ready to do so;
but evidently the God-fearing peasant was so pleased
that he wanted to lavish his gratitude and joy on some-
one. He bo\^'ed and thanked me, Alyoshka, and
Ignashka.

" There, thank God too! Why, Lord 'a' mercy,
here we've been driving half the night, and don't
know ourselves where we're going! He'll take you
all right, sir, but my horses are quite done up."

And he moved my things with increased energy.
Wliile they were shifting my things, with the wind at
my back almost carrying me off my legs, I went to-
wards the second sledge. The sledge W£is more than a
quarter buried in the snow, especially on the side
\Nhere a cloak had been hung over the two drivers'
heads to keep off the wind; under the cloak it was
sheltered and snug. The old man was lying just as
before with his legs out, while the story-teller was still

222 The Snow-Storm

telling his story: "So at the very time when the
general arrived in the king's name, that is, to Mariya
in the prison, Mariya says to him, ' General! I don't
want you, and I cannot love you, and you are not my
lover; my lover is that same prince.' ... So then " —
he was going on, but, seeing me, he paused a moment,
and began pulling at his pipe.

" Well, sir, are you come to listen to the tale? "
said the other man, whom I have called the counsellor.

" Why, you are nice and cheerful in here! " I
said.

"To be sure, it passes the time — anyway, it keeps
one from thinkmg."

" Don't you know, really, where we are now? "
This question, it struck me, was not liked by the
drivers.

" Why, who's to make out where we are? Maybe
we've got to the Kalm.ucks altogether," answered the
counsellor.

" What are we going to do? " I asked.

" What are we to do? Why, we'll go on, and may-
be we'll get somev/here," he said in a tone of dis-
pleasure.

" Well, but if we don't get there, and the horses
can go no further in the snow, what then? "

"What then? Nothing."

" But we may freeze."

"To be sure, we may, for there are no stacks to be
seen now; we must have driven right out to the
Kalmucks. The chief thing is, we must look about
in the snow."

" And aren't you at all afraid of being frozen, sir? "
said the old man, in a trembling voice.

Although he seemed to be jeering at me, I could
see that he was shivering in every bone.

" Yes, it's getting very cold," I said.

" Ah, sir! You should do as I do; every now and
then take a run; that would wami you."

"It's first-rate, the way you run after the sledge,"
said the counsellor.

The Snow-Storm 223

yii

" Please get in: it's all ready! " Alyoshka called to
me from the front sledge.

The blizzard was so terrific that it was only by my
utmost efforts, bending double and clutching the
skirts of my coat in both hands, that I managed to
struggle through the whirling snow, which was blown
up by the wind under my feet, and to make the few
steps that separated me from the sledge. My former
driver was kneeling in the middle of the empty sledge,
but on seeing me he took off his big cap; whereupon
the wind snatched at his hair furiously. He asked
me for something for drink, but most likely had not
expected me to give him anything extra, for my re-
fusal did not in the least disappoint him. He thanked
me for that too, put on his cap, and said to me, " Well,
good luck to you, sir! " and tugging at his reins, and
clucking to his horses, he drove away from us. After
that, Ignashka too, with a swing of his whole body
forward, shouted to his horses. Again the sound of
the crunching of the hoofs, shouting, and bells re-
placed the sound of the howling of the wind, which
was more audible when we were standing still.

For a quarter of an hour after moving I did not go
to sleep, but amused myself by watching the figures
of my new driver and horses. Ignashka sat up smartly,
incessantly jumping up and down, swinging his arm
with the whip over the horses, shouting, knocking one
leg against the other, and bending forward to set
straight the shaft-horse's breech, which kept slipping
to the right side. He was not tall, but seemed to be
well built. Over his full coat he had on a cloak not
tied in at the waist; the collar of it was open, and his
neck was quite bare; his boots were not of felt, but of
leather, and his cap was a small one, which he was
continually taking off and shifting. His ears had no
covering but his hair.

In all his actions could be detected not merely

224 The Snow-Storm

energy, but even more, it struck me, the desire to
keep up his own energies. The further we went, the
more and more frequently he jumped up and down on
the box, shifted his position, slapped one leg against
the other, and addressed remarks to me and Alyoshka.
It seemed to me he was afraid of losing heart. And
there was good reason; though we had good horses,
the road became heavier and heavier at every step,
and the horses unmistakably moved more unwillingly;
he had to use the whip now, and the shaft-horse, a
spirited, big, shaggy horse, stumbled twice, though at
once taking fright, he darted forward and flung up his
shaggy head almost to the very bells. The right
trace-horse, whom I could not help watching, notice-
ably kept the traces slack, together with the long
leather tassel of the breech, that shifted and shook up
and down on the off-side. He needed the whip, but,
like a good, spirited horse, he seemed vexed at his own
feebleness, and angrily dropped and flung up his head,
as though asking for the rein. It certainly was terrible
to see the blizzard getting more and more violent,
the horses growing weaker, and the road getting
worse, while we hadn't a notion where we were and
whether we should reach the station, or even a shelter
of any sort. And ludicrous and strange it was to
hear the bells ringing so gaily and unconcernedly
and Ignashka calling so briskly and jauntily, as though
we were driving at midday in sunny, frosty Christmas
weather, along some village street on a holiday; and
strangest of all it was to think that we were going on
all the while and going quickly, any^vhere to get away
from where we were. Ignashka sang a song, in the
vilest falsetto, but so loudly and with breaks in it,
filled in by such whistling, that it was odd to feel
frightened as one listened to him.

" Hey, hey, what are you splitting your throat for,
Ignashka? " I heard the voice of the counsellor.
" Do stop it for an hour."

"What?"

"Shut up! "

The Snow-Storm 225

Ignat ceased. Again all was quiet, and the wind
howled and whined, and the whirling snow began to
lie thicker on our sledge. The counsellor came up
to us.

"Well, what is it?"

" What, indeed; which way are we to go? "

"Who knows?"

" Wliy, are your feet frozen, that you keep beating
them together? "

" They're quite numb."

" You should take a run. There's something over
yonder; isn't it a Kalmuck encampment? It would
warm your feet, anyway."

" All right. Hold the horses . . . there."

And Ignat ran in the direction indicated.

" One must keep looking and walking round, and
one will find something; what's the sense of driving
on like a fool? " the counsellor said to me. " See,
what a steam the horses are in! "

All the time Ignat was gone — and that lasted so
long that I began to be afraid he was lost — the coun-
sellor told me in a calm, self-confident tone, hov/ one
must act during a blizzard, how the best thing of all
was to unyoke a horse and let it go its own way; that
as God is holj^ it would lead one right; how one
could sometimes see by the stars, and how if he had
been driving the leading sledge, we should have been
at the station long ago.

" Well, is it? " he asked Ignat, who was coming
back, stepping with difficulty almost knee-deep in the
snow.

" Yes, it's an encampment," Ignat answered, pant-
ing, " but I don't know what sort of a one. We must
have come right out to Prolgovsky homestead, mate.
We must bear more to the left."

"What nonsense! . . . That's our encampment,
behind the village! " retorted the counsellor.

" But I tell you it's not! "

" Why, I've looked, so I know. That's what it
will be; or if not that, then it's Tamishevsko. We
Q

226 The Snow-Storm

must keep more to the right, and we shall get out on
the big bridge, at the eighth verst, directly."

" I tell you it's not so! Why, I've seen it! " Ignat
answered with initation.

" Hey, mate, and you call yourself a driver! "
" Yes, I do. . . . You go yourself! "
'' What should I go for? I know as it is."
Ignat unmistakably lost his temper; without reply-
ing, he jumped on the box and drove on.

" I say, my legs are numb; there's no warming
them," he said to Alyoshka, clapping his legs together
more and more frequently, and knocking off and
scraping at the snow, that had got in above his boot-
tops.

I felt awfully sleepy.

VIII

" Can I really be beginning to freeze? " I wondered
sleepily. " Being frozen always begins by sleepiness,
they say. Better be drov/ned than frozen — let them
drag me out in the net; but never mind, I don't care
whether it's drowning or freezing, if only that stick,
or v/hatever it is, vvouldn't poke me in the back, and
I could forget everything."

I lost consciousness for a second.

" How will it all end, though? " I suddenly won-
dered, opening my eyes for a minute and staring
at the white expanse of snow; " how will it end, if
we don't come across any stacks, and the horses come
to a standstill, which I fancy will happen soon? We
shall all be frozen." I must own tliat, though I was
a little frightened, the desire that something extra-
ordinary and rather tragic should happen to us was
stronger than a little fear. It struck me that it would
not be bad if, towards morning, the horses should
reach some remote, unlmown village, with us half-
frozen, some of us indeed completely frozen. And
dreams of something like that floated with extra-

The Snow-Storm 227

ordinary swiftness and clearness before my imagina-
tion. The horses stop, the snow drifts higher and
higher, and now nothing can be seen of the horses but
their ears and the yoke; but suddenly Ignashka ap-
pears on the top of the snow with his three horses and
drives past us. We entreat him, we scream to him
to take us with him; but the wind blows away our
voice, there is no voice heard. Ignashka laughs,
shouts to his horses, \\4iistl8s, and vanishes from our
sight in a deep ravine filled with snow. The old man
is on horseback, his elbows jogging up and down, and
he tries to gallop away, but cannot move from the
spot. My old driver with his big cap rushes at him,
drags him to the ground and tramples him in the snow.
" You're a sorcerer," he shouts, " you're abusive, we
will be lost together," But the old man pops his head
out of a snowdrift; he is not so much an old man now
as a hare, and he hops away from us. All the dogs
are running after him. The counsellor, who is Fyodor
Filippitch, saj^s we must all sit round in a ring, that
it doesn't matter if the snow does bury us; w^e shall
be warm. And we really are warm and snug; only
we are thirsty. I get out a case of wine; I treat all
of them to rum with sugar in it, and I drink it myself
v.'ith great enjoyment. The story'-teller tells us some
tale about a rainbov/— and over our heads there is a
ceiling made of snow and a rainbow. " Now let us
make ourselves each a room in the snow and go to
sleep! " I say. The snow is soft and warm like fur;
I make myself a room and try to get into it, but
Fyodor Filippitch, who has seen my money in the
wine-case, says, " Stop, give me the money — you have
to die an 3-^7 ay! " and he seizes me by the leg. I give
him the money, and only beg him to let me go; but
they will not believe it is all the money, and try to
kill me. I clutch at the old man's hand, and with
inexpressible delight begin kissing it; the old man's
hand is soft and sweet. At first he snatches it away,
but then he gives it me, and even strokes me with the
other hand. But Fyodor Filippitch approaches and

228 The Snow-Storm

threatens me. I nm into my room; now it is not a
room, but a long, white corridor, and someone is hold-
ing me by the legs. I pull myself away. My boots
and stockings, together with part of my skin, are left
in the hands of the man who held me. But I only
feel cold and ashamed — all the more ashamed as my
aunt with her parasol and her homoeopathic medicine-
chest is coming to meet me, arm-in-arm with the
drowned man. They are laughing, and do not under-
stand the signs I make to them. 1 fling myself into
a sledge, my legs drag in the snow; but the old man
pursues me, his elbows jogging up and down. The
old man is close upon me, but I hear two bells ringing
in front of me, and I know I am safe if I can reach
them. The bells ring more and more distinctly; but
the old man has overt: ken me and fallen with his body
on my face, so that I can hardly hear the bells. I
snatch his hand again, and begin kissing it, but he is
not the old man but the drowned man, and he shouts,
" Ignashka, stop, yonder are the Ahmetkin stacks, I
do believe! Run and look! " That is too dreadful.
No, I had better wake up.

I open my eyes. The wind has blov/n the skirt of
Alyoshka's coat over my face; my knee is uncovered;
we are driving over a bare surface of ice, and the chime
of the bells with its jangling fifth rings out more dis-
tinctly in the air.

I look to see where there is a stack! but instead of
stacks, I see now with open e3/es a house with a balcony
and a turreted wall like a fortress. I feel little interest
in examining this house and fortress. I want most
to see again the white corridor, along which I was
running, to hear the church bell ringing and to kiss
the old man's hand. I close my e3'es again and fall
asleep.

IX

I SLEPT soundly ; but the chime of the bells was audible
all the Vihile, and came into my dreams; at one time

The Snow-Storm 229

in the form of a dog barking and rushing at me, then
an organ, of which I am one of the pipes, then French
verses which I am composing. Then it seemed that
the chime of the bell is an instrument of torture with
which my right heel is being continually squeezed.
This was so vivid that I woke up and opened my eyes,
rubbing my foot. It was beginning to get frostbitten.
The night was as light, as dim, as white as ever. The
same movement jolted me and the sledge; Ignashka
was sitting sideways as before, clapping his legs to-
gether. The trace-horse, as before, craning his neck
and not lifting his legs high, ran trotting over the deep
snow; the tassel bobbed up and down on the breech,
and lashed against the horse's behy. The shaft-
horse's head, with his mane flying, swayed regularly
up and down, tightening and loosening the reins that
were fastened to the yoke. But all this was more
than ever covered, buried in snow. The snow whirled
in front of us, buried the runners on one side, and
the horse's legs up to the knees, and was piled up
high on our collars and caps. The wind blew first on
the right, then on the left, played with my collar, with
the skirt of Ignashka 's coat, and the trace-horse's
mane, and whistled through the yoke and the shafts.
It had become fearfully cold, and I had hardly
peeped out of my fur collar when the dry, frozen,
whirling snow settled on my eyelashes, my nose and
my mouth, and drifted down my neck. I looked
round — all was white, and light and snowy; nowhere
anything but dim light and snow. I felt seriously
alarmed. Al3^oshka A\as asleep at my feet, right at
the bottom of the sledge; his whole back was covered
by a thick layer of snow. Ignashka was not depressed,
he was incessantly tugging at the reins, shouting and
clapping his feet together. The bells rang as strangely
as ever. The horses were panting, but they still went
on, though rather more slowly, and stumbling more
and more often. Ignashka jumped up and down
again, brandished his gloves, and began singing a song
in his shrill, strained voice. Before he had finished

230 The Snow-Storm

the song, he pulled up, flung the rems on the forepart
of the sledge, and got down. The wind howled ruth-
lessly; the snow simply poiu'ed as it were in shovelfuls
on the skirts of my fur cloak. I looked round; the
third sledge was not there (it had been left behind
somewhere). Beside the second sledge I could see
in the snowy fog the old man hopping from one leg
to the other. Ignashka walked three steps away
from the sledge, sat down on the snow, undid his belt
and began taking off his boots.

" What are you doing? " I asked.

" I must take my boots off; or m}^ feet will be quite
frostbitten! " he answered, going on with what he
was about.

It was too cold for me to poke my neck out of my
fur collar to see what he M'as doing. I sat up straight,
looking at the trace-horse, who stood with one leg out-
stretched in an attitude of painful exhaustion, shaking
his tied-up, snowj' tail. The jolt Ignaslika gave the
sledge in jumping up on the box waked me up.

" Well, where are we now? " I asked. " Shall we
go on till morning? "

" Don't you w'orry 3'ourself, we'll take you all right,"
he answered. " Now my feet are grandl}^ warm since
I shifted my boots."

And he started ; the bells began ringing ; the sledge
began swaying from side to side; and the wind
whistled through the rrmners. And again we set off
floating over the boundless sea of snow.

I SLEPT soundly. Wlien I was waked up by Alyoshka
kicking me, and opened my ej'es, it was morning. It
seemed even colder than in the night. No snow was
falling from above; but the keen, dr}^ wind was still
driving the fme snow along the ground and especially
under the runners and the horse's hoofs. To the right
the sky in the east was a heavy, dingy blue colour;

The Snow-Storm 231

but bright, orange-red, slanting rays were becoming
more and more clearly marked in it. Overhead,
behind the flying white clouds, faintly tinged with red,
the pale blue sky was visible; on the left the clouds
were light, bright, and moving. Everywhere around,
as far as the eye could see, the country lay under deep,
white snow, thrown up into sharp ridges. Here and
there could be seen a greyish hillock, where the fine,
dry snow had persistently blown by. Not a track
of sledge, or man, or beast was visible. The outlines
and colours of the driver's back and the horses could
be seen clearly and distinctly against the white back-
ground. . . . The rim of IgnEishka's dark blue cap,
his collar, his hair, and even his boots were white.
The sledge was completely buried. The grey shaft-
horse's head and forelock were covered with snow on
the right side; my right trace-horse's legs were buried
up to the knee, and all his back, crisp with frozen
sweat, was coated with snow on the off-side. The
tassel was still dancing in time to any tune one liked
to fancy, and the trace-horse stepped to the same
rhythm. It was only from his sunken belly, that
heaved and fell so often, and his drooping ears that
one could see how exhausted he was. Only one new
object caught my attention. That was a verst post,
from which the snow was falling to the ground, and
about which the wind had swept up quite a mountain
on the right and kept whirling and shifting the
powdery snow from one side to the other. I was
utterly amazed to find that we had been driving the
whole night ^^•ith the same horses, twelve hours with-
out stopping or knowing where we were going, and
yet had somehow arrived. Our bells chimed more
gaily than ever. Ignat kept wrapping himself round
and shouting ; behind us we heard the snorting of the
horses and the ringing of the bells of the sledge in
which were the old man and the counsellor; but the
man who had been asleep had gone completely astray
from us on the steppe. When we had driven on
another half- verst, we came upon fresh tracks of a

232 The Snow-Storm

sledge and three horses, not yet covered by the snow,
and here and there we saw a red spot of blood, most
likely from a horse that had been hurt.

" That's FiHp. Why, he's got in before us! " said
Ignashka,

And now a little house with a signboard came into
sight near the roadside, in the middle of the snow,
which buried it almost to the roof and windows.
Near the little inn stood a sledge with three grey
horses, with their coats crisp with sweat, their legs
stiffly stretched out, and their heads drooping. The
snow had been cleared about the door, and a spade
stood there; but the droning wind still whirled and
drifted the snow from the roof.

At the sound of our bells there came out from the
door a big, red- faced, red-haired driver, holding a
glass of vodka in his hand, and shouting something to
us. Ignashka turned to me and asked my permission
to stop here; then, for the first time, I saw his face.

XI

His face Vvas not swarthj^ lean, and straight-nosed,
as I had expected, judging from his hair and figure.
It was a merry, round face, v.ith quite a pug nose,
a large mouth, and round, bright, light blue eyes.
His face and neck were red, as though they had been
rubbed with a polishing cloth; his eyebrows, long
eyelashes, and the down that covered all the lower
part of his face were stiffly coated with snow and
perfectly Vv'hite. It was only half a verst from the
station, and we stopped.

" Only make haste," I said.

" One minute," answered Ignashka, jumping off
the box and going towards Fihp.

" Give it here, mate," he said, taking the glove off
his right hand and fxinging it with the whip on the
snow, and throwing back his head, he tossed off the
glass of vodka at one gulp.

The Snow-Storm 233

The innkeeper, probably an old Cossack, came out
of the door with a pint bottle in his hand.

" To uhom shall I take some? " said he.

Tall Vassil}^ a thin, flaxen-headed peasant with a
goat's beard, and the counsellor, a stout man with
light eyebrows and a thick light beard framing his
red face, came up, and drank a glass each. The old
man, too, was approaching the group, but they did
not offer him any, and he moved away to his horses,
that were fastened at the back of the sledge, and began
stroking one of them on the back.

The old m.an was just as I had imagined him to be
— a thin little man, with a wrinkled, bluish face, a
scanty beard, a sharp nose and decayed, yellow teeth.
His cap was a regular driver's cap, perfectly new,
but his greatcoat was shabby, smeared with tar, and
torn about the shoulders and skirts. It did not cover
his knees, and his coarse, hempen under-garment,
which was stuffed into his huge, felt boots. He was
bent and wrinkled, his face quivering, and his knees
trembling. He bustled about the sledge, apparently
trying to get warm.

" Why, Mitrich, have a drop; it would warm you
finely," the counsellor said to him.

Mitrich gave a shrug. He straightened the breech
on his horse, set the yoke right, and came up to me.

" Well, sir," said he, taking his cap off his grey
hair, and bowing low, " v/e've been lost all night along
with you, and looking for the road; you might treat
me to a glass. Surel^^ 3'our Excellency! Else I've
nothing to warm me up," he added with a deprecating
smile.

I gave him twenty-five copecks. The innkeeper
brought out a glass and handed it to the old man.
He took off his glove with the whip, and put his black
horny httle hand, blue with cold, to the glass; but
his thumb was not under his control; he could not
hold the glass, and let it drop, spilling the vodka in
the snow.

All the drivers laughed.

234 The Snow-Storm

" I say, ]\Iitricli is so frozen he can't hold the
vodha."

But Mitritch was greatly mortified at having spilt
the drink.

They poured him out another glass, however, and
put it to his lips. He became more cheerful at once,
ran into the inn, lighted a pipe, began grinning,
showing his decayed, yellow teeth, and at every word
he uttered an oath. After drinking a last glass, the
drivers got into their sledges, and we drove on.

The snow became whiter and brighter, so that it
made one's eyes ache to look at it. The orange-red
streaks spread higher and higher, and grew brighter
and brighter in the sky overhead. The red disc of
the sun appeared on the horizon through the dark
blue clouds. The blue became deeper and more
brilHant. Along the road near the station there was
a distinct yellowish track, witli here and there deep
ruts in it. In the tense, frozen air there was a peculiar,
refreshing lightness.

My sledge flew along very briskly. The head of
the shaft-horse, with his mane floating up on the
yoke above, bobbed up and down quicldy under the
sportsman's bell, the clapper of which did not move
freely now, but somehow grated against the sides.
The gallant trace-horses, pulling together at the
twisted, frozen traces, trotted vigorously, and the
tassel danced right under the belly and tlie breech.
Sometimes a trace-horse slipped off the beaten track
into a snowdrift, and his eyes were all powdered Mith
snow as he plunged smartly out of it. Ignashka
shouted in a cheerful tenor; the dry frost crunched
under the runners; behind us we heard the two bells
ringing out with a clear, festive note, and the drunken
shouts of the drivers. I looked round. The grey,
crisp-haired trace-horses, breathing regularly, galloped
over the snow with outstretched necks and bits askew.
Filip cracked his whip and set his cap straight. The
old man lay in the middle of the sledge with his legs
up as before.

The Snow-Storm 235

Two minutes later the sledge was creaking over the
swept boards of the approach to the posting-station,
and Ignashka turned his merry face, all covered with
frost and snow, towards me.

" We've brought 5^ou safe after all, sir," said he.

THE RAID ^

{A Vohmieer's Story. 1852)

Translated by Constance Garnett

On i2th July Captain Hlopov came in at the low door
of my mud-hut, wea ing his epaulettes and his sabre —
a full uniform, in which I had not seen him since I
had arrived in the Caucasus.

" I have come straight from the colonel," he said
in reply to the look of inquiry with which I met him ;
" our battalion is marching to-morrow."

" Where to? " I asked.

" To N . That's where the troops are to

concentrate."

" From there they will advance into action, I
suppose? "

" Most likely."

"Where? "Wliat do you think?"

" I don't think. I am telling you what I know.
A Tatar galloped up last night with nstructions
from the general — the battalion to set of^, taking
two days' rations of biscui:. But where, and what
for, and for how long — that, my dear sir, we don't
ask; we're told to go and that's enough."

" If you're only taking biscuit for two days, though,
the troops won't be detained longer than that."

" Oh, well, that doesn't prove anything. . . ."

" How's that? " I asked with surprise.

" Why, they marched to Dargi taking biscuit for
a week and were nearly a month there."

" And can I go with you? " I asked after a short
silence.

' This story is printed by the kind permission of the proprietors
of The English Review.

236

The Raid 237

" You can, of course, but my advice is, better not
go. Wliy should 3'ou run any risk? "

" No, you must allow me not to follow your advice;
I have been a whole month here simply on the chance
of seeing an action, and you want me to miss it."

" Go, if you vdll. Only, wouldn't it be better to
stay here, really? You could wait here till we came
back, you could have some shooting, while we would
go, as God wills! And that would be first-rate! "
he said in such a persuasive tone that I really did feel
for the first minute that it would be iirst-rate. I
answered firmly, however, that I would not stay
behind for any consideration.

" And what is there you haven't seen in it? " the
captain went on, trying to persuade me. " If you
want to know what battles are like, read Mihailosky-
Danilevsky's Description of War — it's a fine book.
It's all described in detail there — where every corps
was stationed and how the battles were fought."

" But that's just what doesn't interest me," I
answered.

" What is it then? You simply want to see how
men are killed, it seems? ... In 1832 there was a
civilian here too, a Spaniard, I think he was. He
went on two expeditions with us, wearing a blue
cloak of some sort . . . they did for him just the
same. You can't astonish anybody here, my dear
sir."

Though I felt sore at the captain's putting such a
despicable construction on my intentions, I did not
attempt to set him right.

" Was he a brave man? " I asked.

" How can I tell? He used to be always in the
front; wherever there was firing, he was in it."

" Then he must have been brave," I said.

" No, it doesn't follow that a man's brave because
he thiaists himself where he's not wanted."

" What do you call being brave then? "

"Brave? brave?" repeated the captain, with
the air of a man to whom such a question is presented

238

The Raid

for the first time. " He's a brave man who behaves
as he ought,'" he said after a moment's reflection.

I recalled Plato's definition of bravery — the know-
ledge of what one need and what one need not fear, and
in spite of the vagueness and looseness of expression
in the captain's definition, I thought that the funda-
mental idea of both v/as not so different as might be
supposed, and that the captain's definition was, in-
deed, more correct than the Greek philosopher's,
because if he could have expressed himself like Plato,
he would probably have said that the brave man is
he who fears only what he ought to jeay, and not what
he need Jiot fear.

I wanted to explain my idea to the captain.

" Yes," I said, " it seems to me that in every
danger there is a choice, and the choice made, for
instance, under the influence of a sense of duty is
bravery, while the choice made under the influence
of a low feeling is cowardice, because the man who
risks his life from vanity, or curiosity, or greed of
gain, can't be called brave; while, on the other hand,
a man who refuses to face danger from an honourable
feeling of duty to his family, or simply on conscientious
grounds, can't be called a coward."

The captain looked at me with rather an odd
expression while I was talking.

" Weh, I'm not equal to proving that," he said,
filling his pipe, " but we have an ensign who is fond of
philosophising. You must talk to him. He writes
verses even.'"

I had only met the captain in the Caucasus, though
I knew a groat deal about him in Russia. His mother,
Marya Ivanovna Hlopov, was living on her small
estate a mile and a half from my home. Before I set
off for the Caucasus, I went to see her. The old lady
was delighted that I was going to sec her Pashenka,
as she called the grey-headed elderly captain, and that
I could, like a living letter, tell him how she was getting
on, and take him a parcel from home. After regahng
me with a capital pie and salted game, Marya Ivanovna

The Raid 239

went into her bedroom and fetched from there a rather
large black amulet, with a black silk ribbon sewn on it.

" This is our Holy Guardian, Mother of the Burning
Bush," she said, crossing herself, and kissing the image
of the Mother of God, before putting it into my hand,
" be so kind, sir, as to give it to him. When he went
to the Caucasus, you know, I had a service sung for
him, and m.ade a vov/ that if he were alive and unhurt
I would have that image made of the Holy Mother.
Now it's eighteen 3"ears that our Guardian Lady and
the holy saints have had mercy on him. He has not
once been wounded, and yet what battles he has been
in! . . . When Mihailo, who was with him, told me
about it, would you believe it, it made my hair stand
on end. If I hear anything about him, it's only from
other people, though; he, dear boy, never writes a
word to me about his campaigns — he's afraid of
frightening me."

It was only in the Caucasus, and then not from the
captain, that I learned that he had been four times
severel}' wounded, and, I need hardly say, had v.Titten
no more to his mother about his wounds than about
his campaigns.

" So let him v/ear this holy figure now," she went
on; "I send him my blessing with it. The Most
Holy Guardian Motlier will protect him! Let him
always have it on him, especially in battles. Tell him,
please, that his mother bids him."

I promised to carry out her instructions exactly.

" I am sure you vvill like my Pashenka," the old
lady went on, "he's such a dear boy! Would you
believe it, not a year goes by without his sending me
money, and Annushka, my daughter, has had a great
deal of help from him, too . . . and it's all out of
nothing but his pay! I am ever tnily thankful to
God," she concluded, with tears in her eyes, " for
giving me such a son."

" Does he often write to you? " I asked.

"Not often; usually only once a year; when he
sends money, he'll send a word or two, but not else

240 The Raid

' If I don't write, mother,' he says, ' it means that I'm
alive and well ; if anything, which God forbid, should
happen, they'll write to you for me.' "

When I gave the captain his mother's present — it
was in my hut — he asked for a piece of tissue-paper,
wra])ped it carefully up and put it away. I gave him
a minute account of his mother's daily life; the
captain did not speak. When I finished, he turned
away and was rather a long time filling his pipe in the
corner.

" Yes, she's a splendid old lady! " he said without
turning, in a rather husky voice. " Will God send me
back to see her again, I wonder? "

A very great deal of love and sadness was expressed
in those simple words.

" Why do you serve here? " I said,

" I have to," he answered with conviction. " The
double pay for active service means a great deal for a
poor man like me."

The captain lived carefully; he did not play;
seldom drank, and smoked a cheap tobacco, which for
some unknown reason he used to call not shag, but
Sambyotalik. I liked the captain from the first; he
had one of those quiet, straightforward Russian faces,
into whose eyes one finds it pleasant and easy to look
straight. But after this conversation I felt a genuine
respect for him.

II

At four o'clock next morning the captain came to
fetch me He was wearing a frayed old coat without
epaulettes, full Caucasian breeches, a white astrakhan
cap with the wool shabby and yellowish, and he had
an inferior-looking Asiatic sabreslung over his shoulder.
The white Caucasian pony, on which he was mounted,
held its head down, moved with little ambling paces,
and incessantly shook its thin tail. Though there was
nothing martial nor fine-looking about the good

The Raid 241

captain's appearance, it showed such indifference to
everything surrounding him that it inspired an in-
voluntary feehng of respect.

I did not keep him waiting a minute, but got on my
horse at once, and we rode out of the fortress gates
together.

The battahon was ah'eady some six hundred yards
ahead of us and looked like a dark, compact heavy mass.
We could only tell that they were infantry because the
bayonets were seen like a dense mass of long needles,
and from time to time we caught snatches of the soldiers'
song, the drum, and the exquisite tenor voice of the
leading singer of the sixth company, which I had heard
with delight more than once in the fortress. The road
ran down the midst of a deep and wide ravine, along
the bank of a little stream, which was at that time
" in play," that is to say, overflowing its banks.
Flocks of wild pigeons were hovering about it, settling
on its stony bank and then wheeling in the air and
flying up in swift circles out of sight. The sun was
not yet visible, but the very top of the cliff" on the right
side began to show patches of sunlight. The grey and
whitish stones, the yellow-green moss, the dense
bushes of Christ's thorn, dog-berries and dwarf elm,
stood out with extraordinary sharpness, in the limpid
golden light of sunrise. But the hollow and the oppo-
site side of the ravine were damp and dark with a thick
mist that hung over them in rolling uneven masses like
smoke, and through it dimly one caught an elusive
medley of changing hues, pale lilac, almost black,
dark green and white. Straight before us, against
the dark blue of the horizon, rose with startling clear-
ness the dazzling, dead-white of the snow mountains,
with their fantastic shadows and outlines that were
daintily beautiful to the minutest detail. Grass-
hoppers, crickets, and thousands of other insects were
awake in the high grass and filling the air with their
shrill, incessant sounds. An infinite multitude of
tiny bells seemed to be ringing just in one's ears. The
air was full of the smell of water and grass and

R

242 The Raid

mist, of the smell, in fact, of a fine morning in
summer.

The captain stiiick a light and lit his pipe; the
smell of the Samhrotalik tobacco and of the tinder
were exceptionally pleasant to me.

We kept on the side of the road so as to overtake
the infantry more quickl}^ The captain seemed more
thoughtful than usual. He did not take his Daghestan
pipe out of his mouth, and at every yard gave a shove
with his feet to urge on his pony, who, swajdng from
side to side, left a scarcely visible dark green track in
the wet, long grass. An old cock pheasant flew up
from under its very hoofs, with the gurgling cry and the
whir of wings that sets a sportsman's heart beating,
and slowly rose in the air. The captain did not take
the slightest notice of it.

We were almost overtaking the battalion when we
heard the hoofs of a galloping horse behind us, and in
the same instant a very pretty and boyish youth, in
the uniform of an officer, and a high white astrakhan
cap, galloped up. As he passed us, he smiled,
nodded, and waved his whip, ... I had only
time to notice that he sat his horse and held his
reins with a certain individual grace, and that he
had beautiful black eyes, a delicate nose, and only
the faintest trace of moustache. I was particularly
charmed at his not being able to help smiling
when he saw we were admiring him. From that
smile alone one could have been sure that he was
very young.

" And what is it he's galloping to? " the captain
muttered with an air of vexation, not removing his
pipe from his lips.

" Who is that? " I asked him.

" Ensign Alanin, a subaltern of my company. . . .
It's only a month since he joined from the military
school."

" I suppose it's the first time he's going into action,"
I said.

" That's just why he's so happy about it ! " answered

The Raid 243

the captain, shaking his head with an air of profundity.
"Ah, youth!"

" Well, how can he help being glad? I can under-
stand that for a young officer it must be very in-
teresting."

The captain did not speak for a couple of minutes.

" That's just what I say; it's youth! " he resumed
in his bass voice. " What is there to be pleased about
before one knows what it's like! When you have been
out often, j'ou're not pleased at it. We've now, let
us say, tv.-enty officers on the march; that somebody
will be killed or wounded, that's certain. To-day it's
my turn, to-morrow his, and next day another man's.
So what is there to be happy about? "

III

The bright sun had scarcely risen from behind the
mountains and begun to shine on the valley along
which we were marching, when the billowy clouds
of mist parted, and it became hot. The soldiers, with
their guns and knapsacks on their backs, walked
slowly along the dusty road; from time to time I
heard snatches of Little Russian talk and laughter
in the ranks. A few old soldiers in white canvas
tunics — for the most part sergeants or corporals —
marched along on the side of the road, smoking their
pipes and talking soberly. The wagons, drawn by
three horses and piled high with baggage, moved
forward at a walking pace, stirring up a thick, im-
movable cloud of dust. The officers rode in front;
some of them were jigiting, as they say in the Caucasus,
that is, whipping up their horses till they made them
prance some four times, and then sharply pulling them
up with their heads on one side. Others entertained
themselves with the singers, who, in spite of the stifling
heat, untiringly kept up one song after another.
About three hundred yards in front of the infantry,
on a big white horse surrounded by Tatar cavalry.

244 The Raid

rode an officer famous in the regiment for his reckless
daring, and for being a man who would tell the truth
to anyone's face. He was a tall, handsome man,
dressed in Asiatic style, in a black tunic with em-
broidered borders, leggings to match, new, richly-
embroidered, closely-fitting shoes, a yellow Circassian
coat and a tall astrakhan cap tilted backwards on his
head. Over his chest and back he had bands of silver
embroidery in which his powder-horn was thrust
in front and his pistol behind. A second pistol and a
dagger in a silver sheath hung at his belt. Over all
this was girt a sabre in a red morocco case edged with
embroidery, and over his shoulder was slung a rifle in
a black case. His costume, his manner of riding and
holding himself, and every movement he made showed
that he was trying to look like a Tatar, He even
spoke to the Tatars riding with him in a language I
did not know. But from the puzzled and sarcastic
looks the latte gave one another, I fancied that they
did not understand him either. This was a young
lieutenant, one of the so-called jigit-gallants who
model themselves on Marlinsky and Lermontov.
These men cannot see the Caucasus except through
the prism of the " heroes of our times," of MuUah-
Nur, etc., and in every gesture they are guided not
by their own tastes but by the example of these
paragons.

The lieutenant, for instance, was perhaps fond of the
society of ladies and persons of importance — generals,
colonels, adjutants — I feel sure, indeed, that he was
very fond of such society because he was excessively
vain. But he thought it his imperative duty to turn
his rough side to all people of consequence, though his
rudeness after all never amounted to very much.
And whenever a lady made her appearance at the
fortress he felt bound to pass by her window with
his boon companions, wearing a red shirt and with
nothing but slippers on his hare feet, and to shout and
swear as loudly as possible. But all this was not so
much from a desire to offend her as to show her what

The Raid 245

splendid white legs he had, and how easy it would
be to fall in love with him, if he chose to wish
it.

Often he would go out at night into the mountains
with two or three peaceable Tatars to lie in ambush
by the wayside so as to waylay and kill hostile Tatars
who might pass by, and though he felt more than once
in his heart that there was nothing very daring in this,
he felt bound to make men suffer because he affected
to be disappointed in them for some reason and so
affected to hate and despise them. Two objects
he never removed from his person; a large ikon
on his neck and a dagger which he wore over his
shirt, even when he went to bed. He genuinely be-
lieved that he had enemies. To persuade himself
that he must be avenged on someone and wipe out
some insult with blood was his greatest enjoyment.
He was convinced that the feelings of hatred, revenge
and disdain for the human race were the loftiest and
most poetical sentiments. But his mistress, a Cir-
cassian, of course, with whom I happened to become
acquainted later on, told me that he was the kindest
and gentlest of men, and that every evening after
jotting down his gloomy reflections he made up his
accounts on ruled paper and knelt down to say his
prayers. And what sufferings he underwent simply
to appear to himself what he wanted to be! For his
comrades and the soldiers were unable to regard him
as he wanted them to. On one of his night expeditions
with his companions he chanced to wound one of the
hostile tribesmen in the foot with a bullet and took
him prisoner. This man lived for seven weeks after
this in the lieutenant's quarters, and the latter tended
him and looked after him as though he had been his
dearest friend, and when his wound was healed let him
go loaded with presents. Later on, when on one of
his expeditions the lieutenant was retreating in a line
of scouts and firing to keep back the enemy, he heard
one among them call him by his name and his wounded
guest came forward and invited the lieutenant by

246

The Raid

signs to do the same. The latter went fon\'ard to
meet his visitor and shook hands with him. The
mountaineers kept their distance and did not fire at
him; but as soon as the heutenant turned liis horse
several shot at him, and one bullet grazed him below
the spine.

Another incident I saw myself. There was a fire
in the fortress one night, and two companies of soldiers
were engaged in putting it out. Suddenly the tall
figure of a man on a coal-black horse appeared in the
midst of the crowd, lighted up by the red glow of the
fire. The figure pushed through the crowd and rode
straight to the fire. Riding right up to it the lieutenant
leaped of! his horse and ran into the house, one side
of which was in flames. Five minutes later he came
out with his hair singed and a burn on his elbow, carry-
ing in his coat two pigeons which he had rescued from
the fire.

His surname was Rosenkranz; but he often talked
of his origin, somehow tracing his descent from the
Varengians, and proving unmistakably that he and
his fathers before him were of the purest Russian
blood

IV

The sun had passed the zenith and was casting hot
rays across the baked air upon the jmrched earth.
The dark blue sky was perfectly clear; only at the foot
of the snow mountains whitish lilac clouds were begin-
ning to gather. The still air seemed to be filled with
a sort of transparent dust. It had become unbearably
hot. When we had come half-way we reached a
little stream where the troops halted. The soldiers,
stacking up their rifles, rushed to the stream; the
officer in command of the battalion sat down on a
drum in the shade, and expressing in every feature
of his face the full dignity of his grade, disi:)Osed him-
self for a meal with his officers The captain lay down
on the grass under the company's baggage-wagon.

The Raid 247

Gallant Lieutenant Rosenkranz and a few other young
officers, squatting on outspread cloaks, were prepar-
ing for a carouse, as might be seen from the bottles and
flagons set out around them and from the peculiar
animation of the singers, who stood in a semi-circle
round them, playing and whistling a Caucasian
dancing-song to the tune of the Lesginka:

" Shamil plotted a rebellion
In the years gone by
Tri-ri, ra-ta-ti

In the years gone by."

Among these officers was the youthful ensign who
had overtaken us in the morning. He was very amus-
ing; his eyes were shining, his tongue faltered a little
from time to time; he was longing to kiss everyone

and to tell them all how he loved them Poor

boy! He had not learned yet that he might seem
ridiculous in feeling so, that his frankness and the
affect ionateness with which he approached every-
body might set other people jeering at him instead of
giving him the affection he longed for so much.
Nor did he know either that when he flung himself
down on his cloak, and leaning on his arm tossed
back his thick black hair, he was exceedingly
charming.

Two officers were sitting under a wagon playing
" fools," with a barrel for a card-table.

I listened with curiosity to the talk of the soldiers
and the officers, and watched the expression of their
faces attentively. But not in a single one of them
could I discover a trace of the uneasiness I was feeling
myself. Jokes, laughter, stories — all expressed the
general carelessness and indifference to the danger
before them. It was as though no one could conceive
that some of them were destined not to come back
along that road

248 The Raid

V

At seven o'clock in the evening, dusty and weary,

we entered the fortified gates of the fortress of N .

The sun was setting and casting a slanting pink light
on the picturesque batteries of the fortress and its
gardens full of tall poplars, on the tilled yellow fields,
and on the white clouds, which, huddling about the
snow mountains as though in mimicry, formed a chain
as fantastic as beautiful. The new crescent moon
looked like a transparent cloud on the horizon. In
the Tatar village near the fortress, a Tatar on the roof
of a hut was calling all the faithful to prayer. Our
singers, with fresh energy and vigour, broke out again.
After resting and tidying myself up a little, I went
to see an adjutant of my acquaintance to ask him
to inform the general of my intentions. On the way
from the outlying part of the town where I was staying
I observed things I had not expected to find in the

fortress of N . An elegant victoria, in which I

saw a fashionable hat and heard chatter in French,
overtook me. From the open window of the com-
mander's house floated the strains of some " Lizanka "
or " Katenka " polka, played on a piano that was
wretchedly out of tune. In the tavern by which I
passed I saw several clerks sitting over glasses of beer
with cigarettes in their hands, and I overheard one
of them saying to the other: " Excuse me . . . but
as regards politics, Marya Grigoryevna is our leading
lady." A Jew, with bent figure and a sickly-looking
face, wearing a shabby coat, was dragging along a
squeaky, broken barrel-organ, and the whole suburb
was echoing with the last bars of " Lucia." Two
women with rustling skirts, silk kerchiefs on their
heads, and bright-coloured parasols in their hands,
swam by me on the wooden footpath. Before a
low-pitched little house two girls, one in a pink and
the other in a blue dress, stood with bare heads, going
off into shrill artificial giggles, evidently in the hope
of attracting the attention of officers as they walked

The Raid 249

by. Officers in new coats, white gloves and dazzling
epaulettes swaggered jauntily about the streets and
the boulevard.

I found my acquaintance on the ground-floor of the
general's house. I had only just had time to explain
what I wanted, and he to reply that it could easily be
managed, when an elegant carriage, which I had noticed
at the entrance, rolled past the window at which we
were sitting. A tall, well-built man, in an infantry
uniform with the epaulettes of a major, got out of the
carriage and went towards the general's.

" Ah, excuse me, please," said the adjutant, getting
up, " I must go to tell the general."

" Who has come? " I asked.

" The countess," he answered, and buttoning up his
uniform he ran upstairs.

A few minutes later a short but very handsome
man, in a coat without epaulettes, with a white cross
at his button-hole, came out on to the steps. Behind
him came the major, the adjutant and two other
officers. In the carriage, in the voice and in every
gesture of the general one could see that he was a man
well aware of his own great consequence.

" Bon soir, madame la comtesse," he said, putting
his hand in at the carriage window.

A hand in a kid glove pressed his hand, and a pretty,
smiling little face under a yellow hat appeared at the
carriage window.

Of the conversation, which lasted several minutes, I
only heard, in passing, the general say with a smile :

" Vous savez que j'ai fait voeu de combattre les
infideles, prenez done garde de le devenir."

There was laughter in the carriage.

" Adieu done, cher general."

" Non, a revoir," said the general, as he mounted
the steps, " n'oubliez pas que je m' invite pour la
soiree de demain."

The carriage rolled away.

" Here, again, is a man," I mused as I went back
home, "who has everything a Russian can desire;

250 The Raid

rank, wealth, distinction — and on the eve of a battle
which will end, God only knows how, this man is jesting
with a pretty woman and promising to drink tea with
her next day, just as though he were meeting her at a
ball!"

I met there, at the adjutant's, a man who amazed
me even more. He was a lieutenant of the K. regi-
ment, a young man of almost womanish timidity and
gentleness. He had come to the adjutant to pour out
his anger and indignation against the persons who
had, he said, intrigued against his receiving a command
in the coming action. He said it was disgusting to
behave in such a way, that it was unworthy of com-
rades, that he should not forget it, etc. Intently as I
watched the expression of his face and listened to the
sound of his voice, I could not help believing that he
was in earnest, that he was deeply hurt and disap-
pointed at not being allowed to fire at Circassians and
to expose himself to their fire. He was as sore as a
child who has been unjustly whipped. ... I was
utterly unable to understand it all.

VI

The troops were to set off at ten o'clock in the evening.
At half-past eight I mounted my horse and rode to
the general's, but as I thought both he and the
adjutant would be engaged, I waited in the street,
tied my horse to the fence and sat down on a pro-
jecti g part of the wall, meaning to overtake the
general as soon as he rode out.

The heat and glare of the sun had by now given
place to the coolness of the night and the dim light
of the new moon, which was beginning to set in a pale
half-circle of light against the dark blue of the starry
sky. Lights had begun to shine in the windows of
houses and through the chinks in the shutters of the
mud huts. The graceful poplars in the garden looked
taller and blacker than ever standing up on the horizon

The Raid 251

against the whitewashed huts with the moonhght on
their thatched roofs. Long shadows of the houses,
trees and fences lay picturesquely on the shining,
light, dusty road. . . . By the river the frogs kept
up an unceasing noise ;^ in the streets I could hear
hurried footsteps and talk, and the tramp of a horse;
from the suburb floated the sounds of a barrel-organ,
first, " The Winds do Blow," then some " Aurora
Waltz."

I will not describe my musings; in the first place,
because I should be ashamed to confess the gloomy
images ^\'llich hovered in haunting succession before
my heart, while I saw nothing but gaiety and cheer-
fulness around me; and secondl}^ because they do
not come into my story. I was so absorbed in my
thoughts that I did not even notice that the bell had
struck eleven o'clock and that the general and his
suite had ridden by me. The rearguard was already
at the gates of the fortress. I had much ado to get
over the bridge in the crush of cannon, caissons,
baggage and officers loudly shouting instructions.

When I had ridden out of the gates, I trotted after
the troops moving silently in the darkness and stretch-
ing over almost a verst of road, and overtook the
general. Above the heavy artillery and horsemen
drawn out in one long line, above, over the guns, the
officers and men, like a jarring discord in a slow solemn
harmony, rose a German voice, shouting:

" Antichrist, give me a linstock! " and a soldier
hurriedly calling: " Shevchenko! the lieutenant's
asking for a light! "

A great part of the sky was covered with long,
dark grey clouds; stars shone dimly here and there
between them. The moon had already sunk behind
the near horizon of black mountains, visible on the
right, and shed a faint tremulous twilight on their
peaks in sharp contrast with the impenetrable dark-
ness wrapped about their base. The air was warm

^The frogs in the Caucasus make a noise that has no resemblance
to the croaking of Russian frogs.

252 The Raid

and so still that it seemed as though not one blade of
grass, not one cloud was stirring. It was so dark
that one could not distinguish objects quite near at
hand ; at the sides of the road I seemed to see rocks,
animals and strange figures of men, and I only knew
they were bushes v/hen I heard their rustling and
felt the freshness of the dew with which they were
covered. Before me I saw a compact heaving black
mass followed by a few moving blurs; it was the
vanguard of the cavalry with the general and his
suite. A similar black mass was moving in the midst
of us, but it was lower than the first; this was the
infantry. So complete a silence reigned in the whole
detachment that one could hear distinctly all the
mingling sounds of the night, full of mysterious charm.
The distant mournful howl of the jackals, sometimes
like a wail of despair, sometimes like a chuckle, the
shrill monotonous notes of the grasshopper, of the
frog, of the quail, a vague approaching murmur,
the cause of which I could not explain, and all those
faintly audible night-movements of Nature, impossible
to interpret or define, blended into one full melodious
sound which we call the silence of the night. That
silence was broken by, or rather mingled with, the
dull thud of horses' hoofs and the rustle of the high
grass under the slowl3'-moving detachment.

Only from time to time the rumble of a heavy gun,
the jingling of bayonets, subdued talk, or the snort
of a horse, was heard in the ranks.

All Nature seemed filled with peace-giving power
and beauty.

Is there not room enough for men to live in peace in
this fair world under this infinite starry sky? How is it
that wrath, vengeance, or the lust to kill their fellow
men, can persist in the soul of man in the midst of
this entrancing Nature? Everything evil in the heart
of man ought, one would think, to vanish in contact
with Nature, in which beauty and goodness find their
most direct expression.

The Raid 253

VII

We had been marching more than two hours. I felt
shivery and began to be sleepy. The same mdistmct
objects rose dimly in the darkness; at a little distance
a wall of blackness with the same moving blurs,
close beside me the haunches of a white horse which
paced along switching its tail and straddling its hmd
legs- a black in a white Circassian coat against which
a rifle in a black case and the white stock of a pistol
in an embroidered cover showed up diSLinctiy, the
glow of a cigarette lighting up a flaxen moustache,
I beaver collar and a hand in a wash-leather glove.

I was bending over my horse's neck, closing my
eyes, and I kept losing myself for a few minutes, till
suddenly the familiar rustle and thud would arouse
me- I looked about me and it seemed as though i
were standing still vM\e the black wall facing me was
moving upon me, or that that wall was standing stiU
and I should ride against it in another moment. At
one such instant of awakening that unaccountable
continuous murmur, which seemed to come closer
and closer, sounded more loudly than ever; it was the
sound of water. We had entered a deep ravine and
were close upon a mountain stream which was at that
time overflovNing its banks.' The murmur grew louder,
the damp grass was thicker and higher, the bushes
were closer, and the horizon narrower. Here and
there, against the dark background of the mountains,
bright hres flared up and died down again in an mstant.
'' TeU me, please, what are those lights? I asked
in a whisper of a Tatar riding beside me.
" Why, don't you know? " he answered.
"No, I don't."' . ^ ^ , ,

" That's the mountaineer has tied straw to a state
and wiU wave the hre about," he said m broken
Russian.

" What's that for? "

' The rivers in the Caucasus overflow their banks in July.

254 The Raid

" That every man may know the Russian is coming.
Now in the villages," he added, laughing, " aie, aie,
there'll be a fine upset; everyone will be dragging
his belongings into hiding."

" What! Do they know already in the mountains
that the detachment is coming? " I asked.

" Aie! aie! To be sure he knows! He always
knows! Our folks are like that."

" Is Shamil, too, preparing to fight then? " I asked.

"-Nay," he answered, shaking his head. "Shamil
is not going to come out to fight. Shamil will send
his chiefs and look through a tube from up above."

"And does he live far away? "

" No, not far. Yonder to the left it will be ten
versts."

" How do you know? " I asked him. " Have you
been there? "

" I have. All of us have been in the mountains."

" And have you seen Shamil? "

" Pich ! Shamil is not to be seen by us. A hundred,
three hundred, a thousand guards are roimd him.
Shamil will be in the middle! " he said with an ex-
pression of servile admiration.

Glancing upwards into the sky, which had grown
clearer, one could already discern a light in the east,
and the Pleiades were already sinking to the horizon ;
but in the ravine along which we were marching it
was damp and dark.

Suddenly, a little in front of us, several little lights
began to glimmer, and at the same instant bullets
whizzed by us with a sharp ping, and in the stillness
all around us we heard shots in the distance and a
loud piercing shriek. It was the enemy's advance
picket. The Tatars of whom it consisted halloed,
fired at random, and scattered in all directions.

All was silent. The general summoned the in-
terpreter. A Tatar in a white Circassian coat rode
up to him and, gesticulating and whispering, talked
to him about something for rather a long time.

" Colonel Hasanov, give the orders that the line

The Raid 255

of scouts move into more open formation," said the
general, in a quiet, drawling, but very distinct voice.
The detachment had reached the river. The black
mountains of the ravine were left behind; it began
to grow light. The sky, upon which the pale, dim
stars were hardly visible, seemed to be higher; the
red glow of dawn began gleaming in the east ; a fresh
penetrating breeze sprang up from the west, and a
shimmering mist rose like steam over the noisy
river.

VIII

The guide pointed out the ford; the vanguard of
the cavalry and the general with his suite followed.
The water rose breast-high about the horses and
rushed with extraordinary force between the white
stones, which, in some places, were visible at the
surface, and formed swirling, foaming eddies round the
horses' legs. The horses, startled by the noise of
the water, threw up their heads and pricked up their
ears, but stepped steadily and warily over the uneven
bottom against the current. Their riders lifted up
their legs and their guns. The infantry soldiers,
wearing literally nothing but their shirts, held their
muskets above the water with their clothes and their
knapsacks slung upon them. The men linked them-
selves arm-in-arm in lines of twenty, and one could
see, by the strained expression of their faces, the
effort with which they withstood the current. The
artillery riders, with a loud shout, urged their horses
into the water at a trot. The cannon and the green
caissons, over which the water splashed from time to
time, rumbled over the stony bottom; but the sturdy
Cossack horses, pulling all together, and churning the
water into foam, with wet tails and manes struggled
out on the other side.

As soon as the crossing was over the general's face
suddenly showed a certain gravity and thoughtful-
ness. He turned his horse, and with the cavalry

256

The Raid

trotted across a wide glade, shut in by woods, which
stretched before us. The Cossack cavalry scouts
scattered along the edge of the wood. We caught sight
of a man on foot, in the wood, wearing a Circassian
coat and cap; then a second . . . and a third. One
of the officers said: " There are the Tatars." Then
there was a puff of smoke from behind a tree ... a
shot . . . and another Our volleys drowned the
sound of the enemy's firing. Only now and then a
bullet whizzing by with a deliberate note like the
sound of a bee showed that all the firing was not on
our side. Then the infantry at a run, and the artillery
at a quick trot, passed through the line of scouts.
We heard the deep bass notes of the cannon, the
metallic click of the ejected cartridges, the hissing of
slicils, the crack of the musketry. The cavalry, the
infantry and artillery were to be seen on all sides of
the glade. The smoke of the cannon, of the shells
and of the muskets melted away in the greenness of
the wood and mingled with the mist. Colonel
Hasanov galloped up to the general and pulled his
horse up sharpl5^

" Your Excellency," he said, raising his hand to his
Circassian cap, " give the order for the cavalry to
charge; there are the flags." And he pointed with
his whip to some Tatars on horseback, before whom
two men were riding with red and blue rags on
sticks.

" Very well, Ivan Mihailovitch," said the general.

The colonel immediately wheeled his horse round,
waved his sabre in the air and shouted:

"Hurrah! "

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" rang out in the
ranks, and the cavalry flew after him.

Everybody watched eagerly; there was one flag,
then another, a third, and a fourth. . . .

The enemy did not await the attack ; they vanished
into the wood and opened fire from there. Bullets
flew more tliickly.

" Quel charmant coup d'ail! " said the general,

The Raid 257

rising lightly in the saddle, in the English fasliion, on
his black slender-legged horse.

" Charmant," answered the major, rolling his rs,
and flicking his horse \\dth a whip he rode up to the
general. " C'est un vrai plaisir que la guerre dans
un aussi beau pays," he said.

" Et surtout en bonne compagnie," added the
general with an affable smile.

The major bowed.

At that moment, with a rapid unpleasant hiss,
one of the enemy's balls flew b3^ and something was
hit; the moan of a wounded man was heard in the
rear. This moan impressed me so strangely that all
the charm of the picturesque battle scene was instantly
lost for me; but no one but me apparently noticed
it; the major seemed to be laughing with greater
zest than ever; another officer finished a sentence he
was uttering with perfect composure; the general
looked in the opposite direction and said something
in French with the serenest of smiles.

" Do you command us to answer their fire? " the
officer in command of the artillery inquired, galloping
up to the general.

" Yes, scare them a bit," the general assented care-
lessly, lighting a cigar.

The battery was drawn up and a cannonade began.
The earth groaned at the sound; there was a con-
tinual flash of light, and the smoke, through which
one could scarcely discern the moving figures of the
gunners, blinded the eyes.

The Tatar village was shelled. Again Colonel
Hasanov rode up, and at the command of the general
dashed into the village. The battle-cry rang out
again, and the cavalry disappeared in the cloud of
dust which it raised.

The spectacle was truly magnificent. To me,
taking no part in the action, and unaccustomed to
such things, one thing spoilt the impression: the
movement, the excitement and the shouting all seemed
to me superfluous. I could not help thinking of a
s

258

The Raid

man swinging his axe and hewing at the empty
air.

IX

The Tatar village had been taken by our troops,
and not one of the enemy was left in it, \\'hen the
general with his suite, to which I had attached myself,
entered it.

Ttie long clean huts, with their flat mud roofs and
picturesque chimneys, were built upon uneven rocky
crags, among which flowed a little stream. Upon
one side lay green gardens lighted up by the brilliant
sunshine and filled with huge pear trees and plum
trees; on the other side loomed strange shadows —
the tall, perpendicular stones of the graveyard, and
tall wooden posts, adorned at the top with balls and
different coloured flags. (These were the tombs of
the jigits.)

The troops stood drawn up in order by the gate.
A minute later the dragoons, Cossacks and the infantry,
with evident delight, scattered among the crooked
by-ways and the empty village was instantly full of
life again. Here a roof was being broken down;
we heard the ring of an axe against hard wood as a
door was smashed in; in another place a haystack
was blazing, a fence and a hut were on fire and the
smoke rose in dense clouds into the clear air. Here
a Cossack was hauling along a sack of flour and a rug.
A soldier with a gleeful face was pulling a tin pan and
a rag of some sort out of a hut; another was trying
with outstretched arms to capture two hens which
were cackling loudly and fluttering against a fence;
a third had found somewhere a huge pot of milk;
he drank from it, and then with a loud laugh flung it
on the ground.

The battalion with which I had come from Fort

N was also in the village. The captain was

sitting on the roof of a hut and was puffing clouds of
Samhrotalik tobacco smoke from a short pipe with

The Raid 259

such an unconcerned air that when I caught sight of
him I forgot that I was in an enemy's village and felt
as though I were quite at home.

" Ah, you are here, too! " he said, observing
me.

The tall figure of Lieutenant Rosenkranz darted
hither and thither about the village; he was in-
cessantly shouting commands and had the air of a man
extremely worried about something. I saw him
come out of a hut with a triumphant air; two soldiers
followed him out, leading an old Tatar with his hands
bound. The old man, whose whole attire consisted
of a torn parti-coloured tunic and ragged breeches,
was so decrepit that his bony arms, bound tightly
behind his back, seemed to be coming off his shoulders,
and his bare bent legs were scarcely able to move.
His face, and even part of his shaven head, was deeply
furrowed with wrinkles! his misshapen, toothless
mouth surrounded by close-cropped grey moustaches
and beard moved incessantly as though he were chew-
ing something; but his red lashless eyes still had a
gleam of fire and clearly expressed an old man's
contempt of life.

Rosenkranz, through the interpreter, asked him
why he had not gone away with the others.

" Where was I to go? " he said, looking calmly
round him.

" Where the rest have gone," answered some-
body.

" The jigits have gone to fight the Russians, but I
am an old man."

" Wliy, aren't you afraid of the Russians? "

" Wliat will the Russians do to me? I am an old
man," he said again, glancing carelessly at the ring
which had formed around him.

On the way back I saw the same old man without
a cap, with his arms bound, jolting behind the saddle
of a Cossack of the Line, and with the same uncon-
cerned expression gazing about him. He was needed
for the exchange of prisoners.

26o The Raid

I clambered on to the roof and settled myself beside
the captain.

" It seems there were but few of the enemy," I
said to him, anxious to learn his opinion of what had
just taken place.

" Enemy? " he repeated in surprise, "why, there
were none at all. Do you call these the enemy?
Wait till the evening and see how we get away. You'll
see how they'll escort us home; how they'll spring
up! " he added, pointing with his pipe to the copse
which we had passed through in the morning.

" What is this? " I asked, uneasily, interrupting
the captain, pointing to a little group of Don Cossacks
which had formed round something not far from
us.

We heard in their midst something like a child's
cry, and the words:

" Don't stab it! Stop . . . they'll see us. . . .
Have you a knife, Evstigneitch? Give us the knife."

" They're sharing something, the rascals! " said the
captain, coolly.

But at that very moment, with a hot, scared face,
the pretty ensign ran round the corner, and waving
his arms, rushed at the Cossacks.

" Don't touch it! Don't kill it! " he screamed in a
childish voice.

Seeing an officer the Cossacks ^ave way and set
free a little white kid. The young ensign was com-
pletely taken aback, he muttered something, and with a
shamefaced expression stopped short before it.

Seeing the captain and me on the roof he flushed
more than ever and ran lightly towards us.

" I thought they were going to kill a baby," he said
with a shy smile.

The general with the cavalry had gone on aliead.

The battalion w ith which I had come from Fort N

formed the rearguard. The companies of Captain

The Raid 261

Hlopov and Lieutenant Rosenkranz were retreating
together.

The captain's prediction was completely justified;
as soon as we entered the copse of which he had spoken
we were continually catching glimpses, on both sides
of the road, of mountaineers on horse and on foot.
They came so near that I could distinctly see some
of them bending down, musket in hand, running from
tree to tree. The captain took off his cap and rever-
ently made the sign of the cross. Several of the elder
soldiers did the same. We heard calls in the wood,
and shouts of " lay, Giaour! lay, Urus! " The
short, dry musket-shots followed one another, and
bullets came whizzing from both sides. Our men
answered silently with a running fire ; only from time
to time one heard in the ranks exclamations such
as: " Where's he ^ firing from? " " It's all right for
him in the wood! " " We ought to use the cannon! "
— and so forth.

The cannon were brought into line, and after a few
shots from them the enemy seemed to weaken; but
a minute later, at every step the troops advanced,
the firing and the shouts and halloos were more in-
cessant.

We had not gone more than six hundred yards from
the village when the enemy's cannon-balls began to
whistle over our heads. I saw a soldier killed by one
of them . . . but why give the details of that awful
scene when I would give a great deal to forget it my-
self?

Lieutenant Rosenkranz kept firing his own musket.
He was not silent for a moment, and in a hoarse voice
shouted to the soldiers, and kept galloping at full
speed from one end of the line to the other. He was
rather pale, which was extremely becoming to his
martial countenance.

The pretty ensign was in ecstasy: his fine black
eyes shone with daring; his lips wore a faint smile;

'The pronoun "he" is used by the Caucasian soldiers as the
collective term for the enemv.

262 The Raid

he was continually riding up to the captain and asking
his permission to dash into the wood.

" We shall beat them back," he said persuasively;
" we shall, really! "

" No need to," the captain answered briefly; " we
have to retreat."

The captain's company took up their position at
the edge of the wood, and, lying down, kept off the
enemy with their fire. The captain, in his shabby
coat and draggled cap, slackening the rein of his white
horse, sat in silence, with his legs bent from the
shortness of his stirrups. (The soldiers knew, and
did their business so well that there was no need to
give them instructions.) Only from time to time he
raised his voice and called to men who had lifted up
their heads. There was nothing martial about the
captain's appearance; but there was so much genuine-
ness and simplicity that it made an extraordinary
impression upon me.

" That's true courage," was the thought that rose
instinctively within me.

He was exactly as I had always seen him, the same
calm movements, the same quiet voice, the same
guileless expression on his plain but open face; only
in the unusual alertness of his glance could one detect
the intentness of a man quietly absorbed in the work
before him. It is easy to say " the same as always,"
but how many shades of difference I have observed
in other people; one tries to appear more composed
than usual, another tries to be sterner, a third more
cheerful; but one could see by the captain's face that
he did not understand why one should try to appear
anything.

The Frenchman who said at Waterloo, " La garde
meurt, mais ne se rend pas," and other heroes, especi-
ally French ones, who have delivered themselves
of memorable utterances, were brave, and their utter-
ances really are worth remembering. But between
their bravery and the bravery of the captain there
was this difference: that if, on any occasion whatso-

The Raid 263

ever, some grand saying had stirred in my hero's soul,
I am convinced that he would not have uttered it,
in the first place, because he would have been afraid
that in uttering the great saying he would be spoiling
the great deed; and secondly, that when a man feels
that he has the strength for a great action no word
whatever is needed. Tliis, to my thinking, is the
peculiar and noble characteristic of Russian courage,
and, that being so, how can a Russian help a pang at
the heart when he hears among our young officers
hackneyed French phrases that aim at the imitation
of obsolete French chivalry?

Suddenly, on the side where the pretty ensign had
been standing, was heard a shout of "hurrah!"
neither loud nor unanimous. Looking in the direction
of the shout I saw about thirty soldiers running
laboriously over a ploughed field, with muskets in
their hands and knapsacks on their backs. They kept
stumbling, but still pushed on and shouted. In front
of them the young ensign galloped, waving his sword.

They all vanished into the wood.

After a few minutes of shouting and musket fire a
terrified horse ran out and soldiers appeared at the
edge of the wood carrying the dead and the wounded ;
among the latter was the young ensign. Two soldiers
were holding him up under the arms. He was as
white as a handkerchief, and his pretty little head, on
which only the faintest shadow of the martial elation
of a moment before could be seen, seemed somehow
fearfully sunk between his shoulders and drooping
on his breast. Upon his white shirt, under his open
coat, could be seen a small red spot.

"Oh, what a pity! " I said, instinctively turning
away from this piteous sight.

" Of course it's a pity," said an old soldier who was
standing beside me with a morose face, leaning on
his musket. " He was afraid of nothing; how can
anyone do so? " he added, looking intently at the
wounded boy. " Still young and foolish — and so he
has paid for it."

264

The Raid

" Why, are you afraid then? " I asked.
" To be sure! "

XI

Four soldiers were carrying the ensign on a stretcher.
A soldier from the fortress followed them, leading a
thin, broken-down horse laden with two green boxes
containing the surgical requisites. They were waiting
for the doctor. The officers rode to the stretchers
and tried to encourage and comfort the wounded
boy.

" Well, brother Alanin, it will be some time before
we dance with the castagnettes again," said Lieutenant
Rosenkranz, going up to him with a smile.

He probably expected that these words would keep
up the pretty ensign's courage ; but as far as one could
judge from the cold and mournful expression of the
latter they did not produce the desired effect.

The captain, too, went up to him. He looked
intently at the wounded boy and his usually uncon-
cerned cool face expressed genuine sympathy.

" My dear Anatole Ivanovitch," he said in a voice
full of affectionate tenderness, which I should never
have expected of him, " it seems it was God's will."

The wounded boy looked round; his pale face was
lit up by a mournful smile.

" Yes; I didn't obey you."

" Better say it was God's will," repeated the
captain.

The doctor, who had arrived, took from the assistant
some bandages, a probe, and other things, and turning
up his sleeves with an encouraging smile went up to
the ensign.

" Well, it seems they've made a little hole in a
sound place," he said jokingly, in a careless tone;
" show me."

The ensign obeyed; but in th« expression with
which he looked at the light-hearted doctor there was
both wonder and reproach which the latter did not

The Raid 265

observe. He began to probe the wound and examine
it from all sides; but, losing patience, the wounded
boy, with a heavy groan, pushed a^vay his hand.

" Let me be," he said, in a voice scarcely audible.
" Anyway I shall die."

With those words he sank upon his back, and five
minutes later when I approached the group standing
round him and asked a soldier how the ensign was,
he answered me, " He's passing away."

XII

It was late when the detachment, formed into a wide
column, marched, singing, up to the fortress. The
sun had set behind the ridge of snow-mountains,
and was shedding its last rosy hght on a long filmy
cloud which lingered on the clear limpid horizon.
The snow-mountains were beginning to be veiled
by a purple mist; only their topmost outlines stood
out with marvellous clearness against the red glow
of the sunset. The transparent moon, which had long
been up, was beginning to turn white against the dark
blue of the sky. The green of the grass and the trees
was turning black and was drenched with dew.

The troops moved in dark masses with steady
tramp through the luxuriant meadow. Tambourines,
drums and merry songs were to be heard on all sides.
The singer of the sixth company was singing at the
top of his voice, and the notes of his pure deep tenor,
full of strength and feeling, floated far and wide in the
limpid evening air.

THE CANDLE: OR. HOW THE GOOD PEASANT
OVERCAME THE CRUEL OVERSEER

"Ye have heard how it has been said, an eye for an eye, and a
tooth for a tooth i but I say unto you, resist not evil."

This happened in the time of the masters.' Of
masters there were different kinds. There were those
who, remembering God and the hour of death, showed
mercy to their serfs, and there were others — sheer
brutes — who remembered neither. Of these over-
lords, the worst were those who had themselves been
serfs — men who had risen from the mire to consort
with princes. Life under them was the hardest of
aU.

Such an overseer was appointed to a seigniorial
estate, the peasantry on which worked on the barst-
china - system. The estate was a large and fine one,
comprising as it did both meadow and forest land, as
well as a good water supply. Both its owner and the
peasantry were contented, vmtil the former a])pointed
one of his house-serfs from another estate to be over-
seer.

This overseer assumed office, and began to press the
peasants hardly. He had a family — a wife and two
married daughters — and meant to make money, by
fair means or by foul, for he was both ambitious and
thoroughly wicked. He began by compelling the
peasants to exceed their tale of days under the barst-
china, and, having started a brick factory, nearly
worked the peo]:ile (women as well as men) to death,
that he might sell and make money by the bricks.
Some of the peasants went to Moscow to complain to
the owner of the estate, but their rep>resentations
availed nothing. The owner sent his petitioners
away empty-handed, and did nothing to check the

' I.e., before the emancipation of tlie serfs in 1861.
' A system of forced labour — so many days per week — under
which the peasants held iheir land.

266

The Candle 267

overseer. Soon the overseer heard that the peasants
had been to complain, and started to take vengeance
upon them, so that their daily lot became worse than
ever. Moreover, some of them were untruthful men,
and began telling tales of one another to the overseer
and intriguing among themselves, with the result that
the whole district was set by the ears, and the overseer
only grew the more cruel.

Things grew steadily worse, until at last the over-
seer was as much feared by the peasantry as though
he had been a raging wild beast. Wlienever he rode
through the village, every man shrank away from him
as from a wolf, and endeavoured at all costs to avoid
his eye. The overseer saw this, and raged all the more
because they feared him so. He flogged and over-
worked the peasants, and many a one suffered sore ill
at his hands.

In time, however, it came to pass that the peasants
became desperate at these villainies, and began to talk
among themselves. They would gather together in
some secluded spot, and one of the more daring of
them would say, " How much longer are we going to
put up with this brute who is over us? Let us end it,
once and for all. It would be no sin to kiU such a
man."

Once the peasants had been told off to clear the
undergrowth in the forest. It was just before the be-
ginning of Holy Week, and when they gathered together
for the mid-day meal they began to talk once more.

" How can we go on like this? " they said. " That
man is driving us to desperation. He has so over-
worked us of late that neither we nor our women have
had a moment's rest by day or night. Besides, if
anything is not done exactly to his liking, he flies into
a passion and beats us. Simon died from his flogging,
and Anisim has just undergone torture in the stocks.
What are we to look for next? That brute wiU be
coming here this evening, and we shall feel the rough
side of his tongue. Well, all we need do is to pull him
from his horse, bash him over the head with an axe,

268 The Candle

and thus end the whole thing. Yes, let us take the
body somewhere, cut it up, and throw the limbs into
the water. The only thing is — we must all be agreed,
we must all stand together. There must be no
treachery."

Vassili Minaeff was especially insistent in the matter,
for he had a particular spite against the overseer. Not
only did the latter flog him every week, but he had
also carried off his wife to be his cook.

So the peasants talked among themselves, and in
the evening the overseer arrived. He had hardly
ridden up when he flew into a rage because the chop-
ping had not been done to his liking. Moreover,
in one of the piles of faggots he detected a hidden
bough.

" I told you not to cut the lindens," he said.
" Which of you has done this? Tell me, or I will flog
the whole lot of you."

So, on his asking them again in whose tale of trees
the linden had been included, the peasants pointed to
Sidor; whereupon the overseer lashed him over the
face till it was covered with l:)lood, gave Vassili also
a cut because his pile of faggots was too small, and rode
off home again.

That evening the peasants collected together as
usual, and Vassili said:

" What fellows you are! You are sparrows rather
than men. You keep saying to one another, ' Stand
ready, now, stand ready,' and yet, when the moment
comes, you are every one of you afraid. That is just
how the sparrows got ready to resist the hawk.
' Stand ready, now, stand ready — no betrayal of
one another,' they said; and yet, when the hawk
stooped, they scurried off into the nettle-bed, and the
hawk took the sparrow he wanted, and flew off with it
dangling in his talons. Then the sparrows hopped out
again. 'Tweet, tweet!' they cried — and then saw
that one of their number was missing. ' Which of us
is gone? ' they said. ' Oh, only little Vania. Well,
it was fated thus, and he is paying for the rest of us.'

The Candle 269

The same with you fellows, with your cry of ' No
betrayal, no betrayal.' When that man hit Sidor you
should have plucked up heart of grace and finished
him. But no; it was, ' Stand ready, stand ready!
No betrayal, no betrayal ! ' — and yet, when the
hawk stooped, every man of you was off into the
bushes."

The peasants talked more and more frequently on
this subject, until they were quite prepared to make an
end of the overseer.

Now, on the Eve of Passion Week he sent word to
them that they were to hold themselves in readiness
to plough the barstchina land for oats. This seemed
to the peasants a desecration of Passion Week, and
they gathered together in Vassili's backyard and de-
bated the matter.

" If he has forgotten God," they said, " and orders
us to do such things as that, it is our bounden duty to
kill him. Let us do it once for all."

Just then they were joined by Peter Michieff.
Peter was a peaceable man, and had hitherto taken no
part in these discussions. Now, however, he listened,
and then said:

" You are meditating a great sin, my brothers.
To take a man's life is a terrible thing to do. It is
easy enough to destroy another's life, but what about
your own? If this man does evil things, then evil
awaits him. You need but be patient, my brothers."

Vassili flew into a passion at these words.

" For you," he said, " there is but one consideration
— that it is a sin to kill a man. Yes, of course it is a sin,
but not in such a case as the present one. It is a sin
to kill a good man, but what about a dog like this?
Why, God has commanded us to kill him. One kills
a mad dog for the sake of one's fellows. To let this
man live would be a greater sin than to kill him. Why
should he go on ruining our lives? No matter if we
suffer for killing him, we shall have done it for our
fellows, and they wiH thank us for it. Yours is empty
talk, Michieff. Would it be a less sin, then, for us to

270 The Candle

go and work during Christ's holy festival? Why,
you yourself do not intend to go, surely? "

" Why should I not go? " answered Peter. " If
I am sent to plough I shall obey. It will not be for
myself that I shall be doing it. God will know to
whom to impute the sin, and, for ourselves, we need
but bear Him in mind as we plough. These are not
my own words, brothers. If God had intended that
we should remove evil by evil, He w^ould have given
us a law to that effect and have pointed us to it as the
way. No. If you remove evil by evil, it will come
back to you again. It is folly to kill a man, for blood
sticks to the soul. Take a man's soul, and you plunge
your own in blood. Even though you may think that
the man whom you have killed was evil, and that
thus you have removed evil from the world — look you,
you yourselves will have done a more wicked deed
than any one of his. Submit yourselves rather to
misfortune, and misfortune will submit itself to you."

After this, the peasants were divided in opinion,
since some of them agreed with Vassili, and some of
them respected Peter's advice to be patient and refrain
from sin.

On the first day of the festival (the Sunday) the
peasants kept holiday, but in the evening the starosta
arrived from the manor house with his messengers, and
said:

" Michael Semenovitch, the overseer, has sent us to
warn you that you are to plough to-morrow in readi-
ness for the oat sowing."

So the starosta and his men went round the village
and told all the peasants to go to plough next day —
some of them beyond the river, and some of them
starting from the highroad. The peasants were in
great distress, yet dared not disobey, and duly went
out in the morning with their teams, and started
ploughing. The church bells were ringing to early
mass, and aU the world was observing the festival;
but the peasants — they were ploughing.

The overseer awoke late that morning and went to

The Candle 271

make his round of the homestead as usual. His
household tidied themselves up and put on their best
clothes, and, the cart having been got ready by a work-
man, drove off to church. On their return a serving-
woman set out the samovar, the overseer returned
from the farm, and everyone sat down to tea-drinking.
That finished, Michael lighted his pipe and called for
the starosta.

" You set the peasants to plough? " he asked,

" Yes, Michael Semenovitch."

" They all of them went, did they? "

"Yes, all of them, and I divided up the work myself."

" Well, you may have done that, but are they
actually ploughing ? That is the question. Go and
see whether they are, and tell them that I myself am
coming when I have had dinner. Tell them also that
each two ploughs must cover a dessiatin, and that the
ploughing is to be good. If I find anything done
wrong I shall act accordingly, festival or no festival."

" Very good, Michael Semenovitch," and the starosta
was just departing when Michael called him back.
He called him back because he wanted to say some-
thing more to him, though he hardly knew how to do
it. He hemmed and ha'ed, and finally said:

" I want you to listen, too, to what those rascals are
saying of me. If you hear anyone abusing me, come
and tell me ah he said. I know those brigands well.
They don't like work — they only like lying on their
backs and kicking up their heels. Guzzling and keep-
ing holiday, that is what the}' love, and they will think
nothing of leaving a bit of land unploughed, or of not
finishing their allotted piece, if I let them. So just you
go and listen to what they are saying, and mark those
who are saying it, and come and report all to me. Go
and inspect things, report to me fully, and keep
nothing back — those are your orders."

The starosta turned and went out, and, mounting
his horse, galloped off to the peasants in tlie fields.

Now, the overseer's wife had heard what her hus-
band had said to the starosta, and came to him to in-

272 The Candle

tercede for the peasants. She was a woman of gentle
nature, and her heart was good. Whenever she got
an opportunity she would try to soften her husband
and to defend the peasants before him.

So she came now to her husband, and interceded.

" My dearest Michael," she implored, " do not
commit this great sin against the Lord's high festival,
but let the peasants go, for Christ's sake."

But Michael disregarded what she said, and laughed
at her.

" Has the whip become such a stranger to your
back," he said, "that you are grown so bold as to
meddle with what is not your business? "

" Oh, but, Michael dearest, I have had such an evil
dream about you. Do listen to me, and let the peas-
ants go."

" All I have to say to you," he replied, " is that
you are evidently getting above yourself, and need a
slash of the whip again. Take that! " And in his
rage he thrust his glowing pipe-bowl against her lips,
and, throwing her out of the room, bid her send him in
his dinner.

Jelly, pies, shtchi ^ with bacon, roast sucking-pig,
and vermicelli pudding — he devoured them all, and
washed them down with cherry-brandy. Then, after
dessert, he called the cook to him, set her down to
play the piano, and himself took a guitar and accom-
panied her.

Thus he was sitting in high spirits as he hiccujjed,
twanged the strings, and laughed with the cook, when
the starosta returned, and, with a bow to his master,
began to report what he had seen in the fields.

" Are they ploughing, each man his proper piece? "
asked Michael.

" Yes," rej)lied the siarosia, " and they have done
more than half already."

" No skimi)ing of the work, eh? "

" No, I have seen none. They are ploughing well,
for they are afraid to do otherwise."

' Cabbage soup.

The Candle 273

" And is the up- turn good? "

" Yes, it is quite soft, and scatters like poppy-
seed."

The overseer was silent a moment.

" Well, and what do they say of me? " he went
on presently. " Are they abusing me? "

The starosta hesitated, but Michael bid him tell the
truth.

" Tell me everything," he said. " 'Tis not your own
words that you will be reporting, but theirs. Tell me
the truth, and I will reward you; but screen those
fellows, and I will show you no mercy — I will flog you
soundly. Here, Katiushka! Give him a glass of
vodka to encourage him."

The cook went and fetched a glassful and handed it
to the starosta, whereupon the latter made a reverence
to his master, drank the liquor down, wiped his mouth,
and went on speaking.

" Anyway," he thought to himself, " it is not my
fault that they have nothing to say in praise of him,
so I will tell the truth since he bids me do so."

So the starosta plucked up courage and went on:

" They are grumbling, Michael Semenovitch. They
are grumbling terribly."

" But what exactly do they say? Tell me."

" There is one thing they all of them say — namely,
that you have no belief in God."

The overseer burst out laughing.

" Which of them say that? " he asked.

" They all do. They say, in fact, that you serve
the Devil."

The overseer laughed the more.

" That is excellent," he said. " Now tell me what
each of them separately has to say of me. What, for
instance, does our friend Vassili say? "

The starosta had been reluctant hitherto to inform
against his own friends, but between him and Vassili
there was an old-standing feud.

" Vassili," he replied, " curses you worse than all
the rest."

274 The Candle

" Then tell me what he says."

" I am ashamed to repeat it, but he hopes you may
come to a miserable end some day."

"Oh, he does, does he, that young man?" ex-
claimed the overseer. " Well, he won't ever kill me, for
he will never get a chance of laying his hands upon me.
Very well, friend Vassili, you and I will have a settling
together. And what does that cur Tishka say? " ^

" Well, no one says any good of you. They all
curse you and utter threats."

" What about Peter Michieff? What did he say?
I'll be bound the old rascal was another one of those
who cursed me."

" No, but he was not, Michael Semenovitch."

" What did he say, then? "

" He was the only one of them who said nothing at
all. He knows a great deal for a peasant, and I mar-
velled when I saw him to-day."

" Why so? "

" Because of what he was doing. The others mar-
velled at him too."

" What was he doing? "

" A most strange thing. He was ploughing the
grass dessiatin by the Tourkin ridge, and as I rode up
to him I seemed to hear someone singing in a low,
beautiful voice, while in the middle of his plough-shaft
there was something burning."

"Well?"

" This thing was burning like a little tongue of lire.
As I drew nearer I saw that it was a five-copeck wax
candle, and that it was fastened to the shaft. A wind
was blowing, and yet the candle never went out."

" And what did he say? "

" He said nothing, except that when he saw me he
gave me the Easter greeting, and then began singing
again. He had on a new shirt, and sang Easter
hymns as he ploughed. He turned the plough at the
end of the furrow, and shook it, yet the candle never
went out. Yes, I was close to him when he shook

^ A rather broad passage is here omitted.

The Candle 275

the clods off the plough and lifted the handles round.
Yet, all the time that he was guiding the plough round,
the candle remained burning as before."

" What did you say to him? "

" I said nothing, but some of the other peasants
came up and began laughing at him. ' Get along
with you ! ' they said. ' Michieff will take a century
to atone for ploughing in Holy Week.' "

" And what did he say to that? "

" Only ' On earth peace, and goodwill toward men ' ;
after which he bent himself to his plough, touched up
his horse, and went on singing to himself in a low voice.
And all the time the candle kept burning steadily and
never went out."

The overseer ceased to laugh, but laid aside the
guitar, bowed his head upon his breast, and remained
plunged in thought.

He dismissed the cook and the starosta, and stiJl sat
on and on. Then he went behind the curtain of the
bed-chamber, lay down upon the bed, and fell to
sighing and moaning as a cart may groan beneath its
weight of sheaves. His wife went to him and pleaded
with him again, but for a long time he returned her
no answer.

At last, however, he said, " That man has got the
better of me. It is all coming home to me now."

Still his wife pleaded with him.

" Go out," she implored him, " and release the
peasants. Surely this is nothing. Think of the things
you have done and were not afraid. Why, then,
should you be afraid of this now? "

But he only replied again, " That man has con-
quered me. I am broken. Go you away while you
are yet whole. This matter is beyond your under-
standing."

So he remained lying there.

But in the morning he rose and went about his
affairs as usual. Yet he was not the same Michael
Semenovitch as before. It was plain that his heart
had received some shock. He began to have fits of

276

The Candle

melancholy, and to attend to nothing, but sat moodily
at home. His reign did not last much longer. When
the Feast of St Peter arrived the owner came to visit
his estate. He called on his overseer the first day,
but the overseer lay sick. He called on him again the
second day, but still the overseer lay sick. Then the
owner learnt that Michael had been drinking heavily,
and deposed him from his stewardship. The ex-
overseer still hung about the homestead, doing no
work and growing ever more melancholy. Every-
thing which he possessed he drank away, and descended
even to stealing his wife's shawls and taking them to
the tavern to exchange for drink. Even the peasants
pitied him, and gave him liquor. He survived less
than a year, and died at last of vodka.

THE GODSON

" Ye have heard that it hath been said, an eye for an eye, and a
tooth for a tooth : but I say unto you, that ye resist not evil."

(Matt. V. 38, 39.)
"Vengeance is mine, I will repay." (Rom. xii. 19).

A POOR peasant had a son born to him. Greatly
delighted, he went off to a neighbour's to ask him to
stand godfather; but the neighbour refused, since he
was unwilling to stand godfather to a poor man's son.
Then the father went to another neighbour with the
same request, but this man too refused.

In fact, the peasant made the round of the village,
but no one would stand godfather, and he was driven
to pursue his quest elsewhere. On the way to another
village he fell in with a chance wayfarer, who stopped
when he met him.

" Good-day to you, friend peasant," he said.
" Whither is God taking you? "

" He has just given me a child," replied the peasant,
" that it may be a joy to me in my prime, a comfort
to me in my old age, and a memorial to my soul when
I am dead. Yet, because of my poverty, no one in
our village will stand godfather, and I am just off to
seek godparents elsewhere."

" Take myself as godfather," said the stranger.

The peasant was delighted, and, thanking him for
the offer, inquired: " Whom, then, shall I ask to be
godmother? "

" A merchant's daughter whom I know," replied
the other. " Go to the town, to the stone building
with the shops in it which fronts the square. Enter
and ask the proprietor to give his daughter leave to
stand godmother."

The peasant demurred to this.

" But, my good friend," he said, " who am I that
277

278

The Godson

I should go and call upon a rich merchant? He will
only turn away from me in disgust, and refuse his
daughter leave."

" That will not be your fault. Go and ask him.
Arrange the christening for to-morrow morning, and I
will be there."

So the poor peasant returned home, first of all,
and then set out to the merchant's in the town. He
was fastening up his horse in the courtyard when the
merchant himself came out.

" What do you want? " he said.

" This, sir," replied the peasant, " God has just
given to me a child, that it may be a joy to me in my
prime, a comfort to me in my old age, and a memorial
to my soul when I am dead. Pray give your daughter
leave to stand godmother."

" When is the christening to be? "

" To-morrow morning."

" So be it. God go with you. To-morrow my
daughter will be at the christening Mass."

Ajtid, sure enough, on the following morning both
the godfather and the godmother arrived, and the
child was christened ; but as soon as ever the christen-
ing was over, the godfather departed without revealing
his identity, and they never saw him again.

II

The child grew up to be a delight to his parents, for
he was strong, industrious, intelligent and peaceable.
When he was ten years old his j^arents sent him to learn
his letters, and he learnt in a year what others took five
years to master. His education was soon completed.

One Holy Week the boy went as usual to visit his
godmother and give her "the Easter embrace. But
when he had returned home he said:

" Dear father and mother, where does my godfather
live? I should like to go and give him the Easter
greeting."

The Godson 279

But his father said: " We do not know, Httle son,
where your godfather Hves. We ourselves have often
been troubled about that. Never since the day of
your christening have we set eyes upon him, nor heard
of him; so that we neither know where he lives nor
whether he be alive at all."

Then the boy knelt down before his father and
mother.

" Let me go and look for him, dear parents," he said.
" I might find him and give him the Easter greeting."

So the father and mother gave their boy leave to
go, and he set off in quest of his godfather.

Ill

Leaving the hut, he started along the highroad, and
had been walking about half the day when he met a
stranger.

The stranger stopped.

" Good-day to you, my boy," he said. " And
whither is God taking you? "

" This morning," answered the boy, " I went to
visit my godmother and give her the Easter greeting,
after which I returned home and asked my parents:
' Where does my godfather live? I should like to go
and give him also the Easter greeting.' But my
parents said to me : ' Little son, we do not know
where your godfather lives. As soon as ever you had
been christened he left our house, so that we know
nothing about him nor whether he be alive at all.'
Yet I felt a great longing to see my godfather, and
now have come out to seek him."

Then the stranger said, " I am your godfather."

The boy was overjoyed, and straightway gave his
godfather the Easter embrace.

" But where are you going now, dear godfather? "
he asked. " If in our direction, come with me to our
hut; and if to your own home, let me come with
you."

28o The Godson

" Nay, I have no time now to go to your home,"
repHed his godfather, "for I have business to do in
the villages; but I shall be back at my own home
to-morrow, and you may come to me then."

" And how shall I find the way to you, dear god-
father? "

" Walk straight towards the rising sun, and you
will come to a forest, and in the middle of the forest
to a clearing. Sit down there and rest yourself, and
observe what happens in that spot. Then come out
of the forest, and you will see in front of you a garden,
and in that garden a pavilion with a golden roof to it.
That is my home. Walk straight up to the garden
gates ; and I will meet you there."

Thus spake the godfather, and then vanished from
his godson's eyes.

IV

So the boy went by the way that his godfather had
told him. On and on he went, until he reached the
forest, and then a little clearing in the middle of it.
In the centre of this clearing stood a pine tree, to one
branch of which a rope was fastened, and to the other
end of the rope an oaken log some three poods ^ in
weight. Exactly beneath the log there was placed a
pail of honey. Just as the boy was wondering why the
honey had been put there, there came a crackling
sound from the forest, and he saw some bears ap-
proaching. In front walked the mother bear, behind
her a young yearling bear, and behind him again
three little bear cubs. The mother bear raised her
muzzle and sniffed, and then made straight for the
pail, with the young ones behind her. First she
plunged her own nose into the pail, and then called
the young ones. Up they ran, and fell to work on the
honey; but their doing so caused the log to swing a
little, and to thrust the cubs away as it swung back.

' The pood— ^o Russian pounds.

The Godson 281

Seeing this, the old she-bear thrust it away again with
her paw. It swung further this time, and, returning,
struck two of the cubs — one of them on the head,
and the other one on the back — so that they squealed
and jumped aside. This angered the mother bear,
and, raising both paws to the log, she lifted it above
her head and flung it far away from her. High up
it swung, and immediately the yearling bear leapt
to the pail, buried his nose in the honey, and munched
away greedily, while the cubs also began to return.
Before, however, they had reached the pail the log
came flying back, struck the yearling bear on the head,
and killed him outright. The mother bear growled
more fiercely than ever as she seized the log and flung
it away from her with all her strength. Up, up it
flew — higher than the branch itself, and well-nigh
breaking the rope. Then the she-bear approached
the pail, and the cubs after her. The log had gone
flying upwards and upwards, but now it stopped,
and began to descend. The lower it came, the faster
it travelled. Faster and faster it flew, until it struck
the mother bear and crashed against her head. She
turned over, stretched out her paws, and died, while
the cubs ran away.

The boy marvelled at what he saw, and then went on
until he came to a large garden, in the middle of which
stood a lofty pavilion with a golden roof to it. At
the entrance gates of the garden stood his godfather
smiling, who greeted his godson, drew him within,
and led him through the grounds. Never, even in a
dream, had the boy seen such beauty and delight as
were contained in that garden.

Next, his godfather conducted him into the pavilion,
the interior of which was even more beautiful than the
garden had been. Through every room did his god-
father lead him — each one more magnificent, more
enchanting than the last — until he had brought him
to a sealed door.

282 The Godson

" Do you see this door? " he said. " There is no
lock upon it — only seals. Yet, although it can be
opened, I bid you not do so. You may live here and
play here, where you like and how you like, and enjoy
all these delights; but this one charge do I lay upon
you — that you do not enter that door. If ever you
should do so, you will remember what you have so
lately seen in the forest."

Thus his godfather spake, and disappeared. Left
alone, his godson lived so happily and contentedly
that he seemed only to have been there three hours
when in reality he had been there thirty years. At
the end of those thirty years the godson drew near
to the sealed door and thought within himself, " Why
did my godfather forbid me to enter that room?
Suppose I go in now and see what it contains? "

So he pushed at the door, the seals parted, and the
door flew open. As he entered he could see rooms
larger and more splendid even than the others, and
that in the midst of them there was set a golden throne.
On and on he walked through those rooms, until he
had come to the throne. Ascending the steps, he
sat down upon it. Hardly had he done so when he
perceived a sceptre resting against the throne. He
took this sceptre into his hand — and lo ! in a moment
all the four walls of all the surrounding rooms had
rolled away, and he could look right round him, and
see the whole world at a glance and all that men were
doing in it. In front of him he could see the sea and
the ships sailing over it. To his right he could view
the life of all foreign, non-Christian nations. To his
left he could watch the doings of all Christian nations
other than the Russian. And lastly, on the fourth
side, he could behold how our own — the Russian —
nation was living.

" Suppose," he said to himself, " I look lo see what
is happening in my own home, and whether the crop
has come up well? "

So he looked towards his own native field, and saw
sheaves standing there; whereupon he began to count

The Godson 283

them, to see how many there were. While he was
doing this he caught sight of a cart going across the
field, with a peasant sitting in it. At first he thought
it must be his father going to carry sheaves home by
night, but when he looked again he saw that it was
Vassili Kudnishoff, the thief, who was driving the
cart. Up to the sheaves he drove, and began to load
them on to the cart. The godson was enraged at
this, and cried out: " Father dear! they are stealing
sheaves from your field! "

His father awoke in the middle of the night. " Some-
how I dreamt that my sheaves were being stolen,"
he said. " Suppose I go and look? " So he mounted
his horse and set off. As soon as he came to the field
he perceived Vassili there, and raised the hue and
cry. Other peasants came, and Vassili was beaten,
bound, and carried off to prison.

Next, the godson looked towards the town where
his godmother was living, and saw that she was now
married to a merchant. There she lay asleep, while
her husband had got out of bed and was sneaking off
to his paramour's room. So the godson cried out to
the merchant's wife: " Arise! your husband is about
an evil business."

His godmother leapt out of bed, dressed herself and
went to look for her husband. She shamed him
utterly, beat his paramour, and turned him out of
doors.

Then the godson looked to see how his mother was
faring, and saw her lying asleep in the hut. Presently
a robber entered, and began to break open her strong-
box. At this moment she awoke and cried out,
whereupon the robber seized a hatchet, flourished
it over her, and seemed on the point of killing her.

The godson could not restrain himself, but flung
the sceptre towards the robber. Striking him right
on the temple, it killed him on the spot.

284 The Godson

VI

Instantly that the godson had killed the robber the
walls of the pavilion closed in again, and the place be-
came as before.

Then the door opened, and the godfather entered.
He went up to his godson, and, taking him by the
hand, led him down from the throne.

" You have not obeyed my commands," he said.
"One thing you have done which you ought not:
you have opened the forbidden door. A second thing
you have done which you ought not: you have
ascended the throne and taken my sceptre into your
hands. And a third thing you have done which you
ought not: you have caused much evil in the world.
Had you sat there but another hour you would have
ruined the half of mankind."

Then the godfather led his godson back to the
throne, and took the sceptre into his hands. Once
again the walls rolled back, and all the world became
visible.

" Look first at what you have done to your father,"
said the godfather. " Vassili lay for a year in prison,
and there learnt every kind of villainy and became
embittered against his fellow-man. Now, look you,
he has just stolen two of your father's horses, and is
at this very moment in the act of firing his farm also.
That is what you have done to your father."

Yet, hardly had the godson perceived that his
father's farm was blazing uj) before his godfather hid
the spectacle from him and bade him look in another
direction.

" Look there," he said. " It is just a year since
your godmother was deserted by her husband for an
unlawful love, and she has been driven by her grief
to drink, and her husband's paramour to utter ruin.
That is what you have done to your godmother."

Then this picture also was hid from the godson by
his godfather as he pointed towards the godson's
own home. In it sat his mother, weeping tears of

The Godson 285

remorse for her sins and saying: " Far better had it
been had the robber killed me, for then I should have
sinned the less."

" That is what you have done to your mother,"
added the godfather. Then he hid this spectacle
also from his godson, and pointed below it. There
the godson saw the robber standing before a dungeon,
with a warder holding him on either side.

And the godfather said to his godson: " This man
has taken nine lives during his career. For those sins
he would have had to atone had you not killed him.
But now you have transferred those sins to yourself,
and for them all you must answer. That is what you
have done to yourself."

Then the godfather went on :

" The first time that the old she-bear pushed away
the log, she only frightened her cubs a little. The
second time that she pushed it away, she killed the
yearling bear by doing so. But the third time that
she pushed the log away, she killed herself. So also
have you done. Yet I will set you now a term of
thirty years in which to go forth into the world and
atone for the sins of that robber. Should you not
atone for them within that time, then it will be your
fate to go Vv'here he has gone."

And the godson said: " In what manner shall I
atone for his sins? "

To this the godfather replied: "When you have
relieved the world of as much evil as you have brought
into it, then will you have atoned for the sins of that
robber."

" But in what manner," asked his godson again,
" am I to relieve the world of evil? "

" Go you towards the rising sun," replied his god-
father, " until you come to a field with men in it.
Note carefully what those men do, and teach them
what you yourself have learnt. Then go forward
again, still noting what you see, and on the fourth
day you will come to a forest. Within that forest
there stands a hermit's cell, and in that cell there

286 The Godson

lives an old man. Tell him all that has befallen you,
and he will instruct you When you have done all
that he bids you do, then will you have atoned both
for the sins of that robber and for your own."

Thus spoke his godfather, and dismissed him from
the entrance gates.

VII

The godson went on and on, and as he walked he kept
thinking to himself: " How am I to relieve the world
of evil? The world relieves itself of evil by sending
evil men into exile, by casting them into prison, by
executing them upon the scaffold. How, then, will
it be possible for me to rid the world of evil without
taking upon myself the sins of others? "

Thus did he ponder and ponder, yet could not re-
solve the problem.

On and on he went, until he came to a field in which
the corn had grown up rich and thick, and was now
ready for the harvest. Suddenly he perceived that
a calf had wandered into the corn, and that some
peasants, having also seen it, had mounted their
horses and were now chasing the calf from one side
of the field to the other through the corn. Whenever
the calf was on the point of breaking out of the corn
a man would come riding up and the calf would double
back in terror. Then once more the riders would
go galloping about through the crop in pursuit of it.
Yet all this time an old woman was standing weeping
on the highway and crying out: " My calf is being
driven to death! "

So the godson called out to the peasants :

" Why ride about like that? Come out of the corn,
all of you, and then the old woman will call her calf
back to her."

The peasants listened to his urging, and, advancing
to the edge of the corn, the old woman cried aloud,
"Here, here, httle madcap! Come here, then!"

The Godson 287

The calf pricked up its ears and listened. For a little
while it listened, and then ran to the old woman and
thrust its head against her skirt, almost pushing her
from her feet. And it all ended in the peasants being
pleased, and the old woman likewise, and the calf as
well.

As the godson went on he thought to himself:
" I see now that evil cannot be removed by evil.
The more that men requite evil, the more does evil
spread. Thus it is manifest that evil is powerless
against evil. Yet how to remove it I know not. It
was pleasant to see the calf listen to the old woman's
voice. Yet, had it not listened, how could she ever
have recovered it from the corn? "

Thus the godson pondered and pondered as he
went.

VIII

On and on he walked, until he came to a village,
where he asked at the first hut for a night's lodging,
and was admitted by the goodwife. She was all
alone in the hut, and engaged in washing it and the
furniture.

Having entered, the godson went quietly to the
stove, and stood watching what the woman was
doing. She had finished the floor and was now
starting to wash the table. First of all she swilled
it over, and then began wiping it with a dirty clout.
She rubbed it vigorously one way, but still it was
not clean, since the dirty clout left streaks upon its
surface. Then she rubbed it the other way about,
and cleared off some of the streaks, while making
fresh ones. Lastly, she rubbed it lengthways, and
back again, yet only with the result of streaking
its surface afresh with the dirty clout. One piece
of dirt might be wiped away here and there, yet others
would be rubbed in all the firmer.

The godson watched her for a time, and at last
said:

288 The Godson

" My good woman, what are you doing? "

■' Do you not see? " she said. " I am cleaning
against the festival day, but, although I am tired out,
I cannot get this table clean."

" But you should first of all rinse the clout, and then
rub the table with it."

The woman did so, and very soon had the table
clean.

" I thank you," she said, " for what you have
taught me."

In the morning the godson took leave of his hostess,
and went on. He walked and walked, until he came
to a forest. There he saw some peasants bending
felloes. The godson drew near them and saw that,
however much they kept walking round the felloe-
block, a felloe would not bend. So he watched them,
and perceived that this was because *the felloe-block
kept turning with them, since it lacked a stay-pin.
As soon as he saw this he said :

" My brothers, what are you doing? "

" We are bending felloes," they replied. " Twice
have we soaked these felloes, and worn ourselves out,
yet they will not bend."

" But you should first of all make fast the felloe-
block," said the godson, " and then the felloe will bend
as you circle round."

Hearing this, the peasants made fast the felloe-
block, and thereafter their work prospered.

The godson spent the night with them, and then
went on again. A whole day and a night did he walk,
until just before dawn he came up with some cattle-
drovers, and lay down beside them. He saw that they
had picketed their cattle and were now tr^ang to light
a fire. They kept taking dry twigs and setting fire to
them, yet the flames had no sooner sprung up than
they put wet brushwood upon them. The brushwood
only gave a hiss, and tlie flames went out. Again and
again the drovers took dry twigs and lit them, yet
always piled wet brushwood on the top, and so
extinguished the flames. For a long time they

The Godson 289

laboured at this, yet could not make the fire burn
up.

At length the godson said, " Do not be so hasty in
piling on the brushwood. First draw up the fire into
a good flame. When it is burning fiercely, then put
on the brushwood."

The drovers did so. First of all they drew up the
flames to a good heat, and then applied the brush-
wood, so that the latter caught successfully, and the
whole pile burst into a blaze.

The godson staj^ed with them for a while, and then
went on again. He kept wondering and wondering
why he should have seen these three incidents, yet
could not discern the reason.

IX

For the whole of that day he pressed on, until he came
to the forest in which stood the hermit's cell. He
approached the cell and knocked at the door, where-
upon a voice from within called out to him: " Who is
there? "

" A great sinner," repHed the godson, " who has
come hither to atone for the sins of another."

Then an old man came out and asked him further:

" What sins of another are those which have been
laid upon you? "

So the godson told him all — about his godfather,
and the bear and her young, and the throne in the
sealed room, and the command which his godfather
had given him, and the peasants whom he had seen
in the field, and their trampling of the corn, and the
calf running to the old woman of its own accord.

" It was then," said the godson, " that I understood
that evil cannot be removed by evil. Yet still I know
not how to remove it. I pray you, teach me."

And the old man said: " Yet tell me first what else
you have seen by the wayside as you came."

So the godson told him about the v/oman and the

290 The Godson

washing of the table, as also about the peasants who
were bending felloes and the drovers who were lighting
a fire. The old man heard him out, and then, turning
back into the cell, brought out thence alittle notched axe.

" Come with me," he said.

He went across the clearing from the cell, and
pointed to a tree.

" Cut that down," he said.

So the godson applied the axe until the tree fell.

" Now split it into three."

The godson did so. Then the old man went back
to the cell, and returned thence with a lighted torch.

" Set fire," he said, " to those three logs."

So the godson took the torch, and set tire to the
three logs, until there remained of them only three
charred stumps.

" Now, bury them half their length in the ground.
So."

The godson buried them as directed.

" Under that hill," went on the old man, " there
runs a river. Go and bring thence some water in
your mouth, and sprinkle these stumps with it.
Sprinkle the first stump even as you taught the woman
in the hut. Sprinkle the second one even as you
taught the felloes-makers. And sprinkle the third one
even as you taught the drovers. When all these three
stumps shall sprout, and change from stumps to apple
trees, then shall you know how evil may be removed
from among men, and then also will you have atoned
for your sins."

Thus spoke the old man, and retreated to his cell
again, while the godson pondered and pondered, and
yet could not understand what the old man had said to
him. Nevertheless^ he set about doing as he had been
bidden.

Going to the river, and taking a full mouthful of water,
he returned and sprinkled the first stump. Again,

The Godson 291

and yet again, he went, and sprinkled the other two.
Now he began to feel tired and hungry, so he went to
the cell to beg bite and sup of the old man ; yet, hardly
had he opened the door, when he saw the old man
lying dead across his praying-stool. The godson
looked about until he found some dry biscuits, which
he ate. Then he found also a spade, and began to dig
a grave for the old man. By night he brought water
and sprinkled the stumps, and by day he went on
digging the grave. Just when he had finished it and
was about to bury the old man, some peasants from a
neighbouring village arrived with presents of food for
the aged hermit.

Learning that the old man was dead, and believing
that he had blessed the godson as his successor, they
helped to inter the body, left the food for the godson's
use, and departed after promising to bring him some
more.

So the godson lived in the old man's cell, subsisting
upon food brought him by the people, and doing as he
had been bidden — that is to say, bringing water in his
mouth from the river and sprinkling with it the
stumps.

He lived thus for a year, and many people began to
come to him, since it had got abroad that a holy man
was living the devout life in the forest who brought
water in his mouth from under the hill to sprinkle with
it three charred stumps. Very many folk visited him,
and even rich merchants brought presents, but the
godson would accept nothing for himself beyond
necessaries. All other things which were given him
he handed to the poor.

Thus his order of life became as follows. Half the
day he would spend in fetching water in his mouth for
the sprinkling of the stumps, and the other half he
would spend in resting or receiving visitors. In time he
began to believe that this must really be the way in
which it was appointed him to live, and that by this
very mode of life he would succeed both in removing
evil from the world and in atoning for his own sins.

292 The Godson

A second year passed without his once omitting, or
any single day, to sprinkle the stumps: yet none ol
the three had yet begun to sprout.

Once he was sitting in his cell, when he heard a man
ride by on horseback, singing to himself as he went.
Going out to see what manner of man this was, the
godson beheld a fine, strong young man, well-dressed,
and mounted on a valuable horse and saddle.
So the godson hailed him, and asked him what his
business was, and whither he was going. The man
drew rein.

" I am a highwa3'man," he said, " and ride the roads
and kill people. The more I kill, the merrier is my
singing."

The godson was horrified, and thought to himself:
" How am I to remove the evil that must lie in such
a man? It is easy for me to counsel those who visit
me, because they are themselves repentant, but this
man glories in his wickedness."

However, he said nothing, but went on reflecting as
he walked beside the man:

" Wliat is to be done now? If this highwajmian
takes to riding this wa\^ he will frighten the people,
and they will cease to visit me. What use will it be
for me then to go on living here? "

So he stopped, and said to the highwayman:

" People come here to visit me — not to glory in
their wickedness, but to repent and to pray for their
sins' forgiveness. Do you also repent if you have
any fear of God. But, if you will not, then ride the
roads elsewhere, and never come this way again, so
that you may not trouble my peace and terrify the
people. Should you not hearken to me, assuredly God
will chastise you."

The highwayman laughed.

" I neither fear God nor will hsten to you'' he said.
" You are not my master. You live by your prayers
and piety, and / by murder. Everyone must live
somehow. Do you go on with your teaching of tlie
old women who come to you, but do not attempt to

The Godson 293

teach me. Yet because you have reminded me of God
this day, I will kill two people the more to-morrow.
I would have killed you yourself this instant, but that
I do not wish to soil my hands. For the rest, keep out
of my way."

Having uttered these threats, the highwayman
rode away. Yet he came no more in that direction,
and the godson went on living quietly as of old for
another eight years.

XI

One night the godson had been sprinkling the
stumps, and then returned to his cell to sit and rest a
while. As he sat there he kept looking along the little
forest path to see if any of the peasants were coming to
visit him. Yet none came that day, and the godson
sat alone until evening. Grovdng weary, he began to
think over his past life. He remembered how the
highwayman had reproached him for living by his
piety, and began to recall his whole career.

" I am not living as God meant me to," he thought.
" The old man laid upon me a penance, but that
penance I have turned into a source both of bread and
of public repute. I have been so led into temptation
by it that I find time hang heavy on my hands if no
visitors come. Yet, when they come, I am pleased
only if they extol my piety ! It is not thus that I must
live. I have been led astray by the praise of men.
So far from atoning for my past sins, I have been
incurring new ones. I will go away into the forest —
away to some new spot where the people cannot find
me, and there I will live entirely alone, so that I may
both atone for my past sins and incur no fresh ones."

Thus the godson pondered in his heart. Then he
took a little bag of biscuits and the spade, and set out
from the cell towards a ravine, in some remote corner
of which he hoped to dig for himself an earthen hut,
and so hide himself from the people.

294 The Godson

As he was walking along with the bag of biscuits
and the spade, there came riding towards him the high-
wa5,Tnan. The godson was afraid, and tried to flee,
but the highwayman overtook him.

" Whither are you going? " asked the brigand.

The godson replied that he wished to hide himself in
some spot where no one could visit him. The high-
wayman was surprised at this.

" But how will you subsist," he asked, " when no
one can come to visit you? "

The godson had not thought of this before, but as
soon as the highwayman put the question he remem-
bered the matter of food.

"Surely God will give me the wherewithal, "he replied.

The highwayman said nothing more, but started to
ride on his way.

" What can I be thinking of ? " said the godson
suddenly to himself. " I have said not a word to him
about his mode of life. Maybe he is repentant now.
He seemed softened to-day, and never once threatened
to kill me."

So he called after the highwayman:

" Yet I beseech you to repent, for never can you
escape God."

Upon this the highwayman turned his horse, seized
a dagger from his belt, and brandished it at the godson,
who straightway fled in terror into the forest. The
highwayman did not pursue him, but said:

" Twice now have 1 let you go, old man; but the
third time, look to yourself, for I will kill you."

This said, he rode away.

That evening the godson went to sprinkle the stumps
as usual — and, behold! one of them had put forth
shoots, and a little apple tree was growing from it!

XII

So the godson hid himself from men, and entered upon
a life wholly solitary. When his small stock of biscuits

The Godson 295

came to an end he bethought him : "1 must go out and
search for roots." Yet, hardly had he set forth upon
this quest, when he saw hanging from a bough in front
of him a httle bag of biscuits. He took them down
and ate them. No sooner had he done so than he saw
another httle bag hanging on the same bough.

Thus the godson lived on, with no anxieties to
trouble him, save one — fear of the highwayman.
Whenever he heard him coming he would hide him-
self, thinking: " If he were to kill me I should die with
my sins unpurged."

He lived in this manner for ten years. The apple
tree on the one stump grew apace, but the other two
stumps remained as they had always been.

One day he rose early, and went out to perform his
task of sprinkling the stumps. He had done this,
when he felt weariness overcome him, and sat down to
rest. As he sat resting there, the thought occurred
to him: " Surely I have sinned the more, since now
I have begun to fear death. Yet it may be that it is
by death itself that God means me to atone for my
sins."

Hardly had he thought this, when of a sudden he
heard the highwayman riding towards him, and cursing
as he came. As soon as he heard him the godson
thought: " None but God Himself can work me weal
or woe," and so went straight to meet the robber.

Then he saw that the highwayman was not riding
alone, but was carrying a man behind him, and that
the man's hands were bound and his mouth gagged.
The man could utter no word, but the highwayman
was cursing him without ceasing. The godson ad-
vanced towards them, and stood in the horse's
path.

" Whither are you carrying this man? " he said.

" Into the forest," replied the highwayman. " He
is a merchant's son, and refuses to say where his father's
money is concealed, so I am going to flog him until he
tells me."

And the highwayman tried to ride on, but the god-

296

The Godson

son seized his bridle, and would not let him pass.
" Let the man go," he said.

The highwayman was enraged at this, and shook his
fist at the godson.

" Do you want the same as he? " he asked him.
" I promised you long ago that I would kill you. Let
me pass."

But the godson felt no fear now.

" I will not let you pass," he said. " I fear not you,
but only God, and God has bidden me detain you.
Let this man go."

The highwayman knit his brows, then seized his
dagger, cut the bonds, and released the merchant's son.

" Away with you both," he said, " and never cross
my path again."

The merchant's son leapt to the ground and fled,
but when the highwayman tried to ride on again the
godson still detained him, and told him that he
must abandon his wicked life. The highwayman
sat quietly listening, but said nothing in reply, and
then departed.

In the morning the godson went to sprinkle the
stumps as usual — and behold! another one of them
had sprouted, and from it a second little apple tree
was growing.

XII!

Another ten years passed, and one day, as he was
sitting free from anxiety or fear of -Any kind, and with
his heart light within him, the godson thought to him-
self: "What blessings are given to men by God!
Yet they vex themselves in vain when all the time
they should be living in peace."

He thought of the vast sum of human wickedness,
and how men distressed themselves to no purpose.
And he felt a great pity for men.

" I ought not to be living thus," he thought.
" Rather ought I to go forth and tell men what I
know."

The Godson 297

Just as this had passed through his mind he heard
once more the highwayman approaching. At first he
was for avoiding the brigand, thinking: " It is bootless
to say anything to this man."

Thus he thought at first, but presently he changed
his mind, and stepped forth into the road. The high-
wayman was riding along with downcast mien and
with his eyes fixed upon the ground. As the godson
looked upon him he felt a great pity for him, and,
running to his side, clasped him by the knee.

" Dear brother," he cried, " have mercy upon your
own soul, for in you too there dwells a God-given
spirit. If you continue thus to torment yourself and
to torment others, assuredly worse torments than all
await you. Yet think how God yearns towards you,
and what blessings He has laid up for you! Do not
destroy yourself, my brother, but change your way of
hfe."

But the highwayman only frowned and turned
away. " Leave me," he said.

Yet the godson clasped him still closer by the knee,
and burst into tears.

At that the highwayman raised his eyes and looked
at the godson. He looked and looked, and then sud-
denly slid from his horse and threw himself upon his
knees on the ground.

" Old man," he said, " you have overcome me at
last. Twenty years have I striven with you, but
you have gradually taken away my strength, until now
I am not master of myself. Do what you will with
me. The first time that you pleaded with me I was
but the more enraged. It was not until you withdrew
from the eyes of men, and recognised that you needed
not their help, that I began to think over your words.
But from that moment I began to hang the bags of
biscuits for you on the bough."

Then the godson remembered how it was only when
the clout was rinsed that the table was cleaned.
Even so, he saw it was only when he had ceased to
take thought for himself that his heart had been

298

The Godson

purified, and he had been able to purify the hearts
of others.

And the highwayman went on:

" But the first real change of heart took place in me
when you ceased to fear death at my hands."

Instantly the godson remembered that it was only
when the felloes-makers had fastened firmly the
felloes-block that they had been able to bend the
felloes. Even so, he saw it was only when he had
established firmly his life in God and humbled his pre-
sumptuous heart that he had ceased to have any fear
of death.

" And," said the highwayman, in conclusion, " it
was when your heart went out to me in pity, and you
wept before me, that my own heart was changed en-
tirely."

Rejoicing greatly, the godson led the highwayman
to the spot where the three stumps were — and behold !
from the third stump also an apple tree had sprouted !

Then the godson remembered that it was only when
the drovers' fire had kindled to a blaze that the wet
brushwood had kindled with it. So also, he saw,
had his heart within him kindled to a blaze, and with
its fiame had set fire to the heart of another.

With joy he recognised that his sins were at last
redeemed.

All this he related to the highwayman and died.
The highwayman laid him in his grave, and lived
thereafter as the godson had bidden him, and taught
men to do likewise.

CROESUS AND SOLON

In olden times — long, long before the coming of
Christ — there reigned over a certain country a great
king called Croesus. He had much gold and silver,
and many precious stones, as well as numberless
soldiers and slaves. Indeed, he thought that in all
the world there could be no happier man than himself.

But one day there chanced to visit the country
which Croesus ruled a Greek philosopher named Solon.
Far and wide was Solon famed as a wise man and a
just; and, inasmuch as his fame had reached Croesus
also, the king commanded that he should be conducted
to his presence.

Seated upon his throne, and robed in his most
gorgeous apparel, Croesus asked of Solon: "Have
you ever seen aught more splendid than this? "

" Of a surety have I," replied Solon. " Peacocks,
cocks, and pheasants glitter with colours so diverse
and so brilliant that no art can compare with
them."

Croesus was silent as he thought to himself: " Since
this is not enough, I must show him something more,
to surprise him."

So he exhibited the whole of his riches before Solon's
eyes, as well as boasted of the number of foes he had
slain, and the number of territories he had conquered.
Then he said to the philosopher:

" You have lived long in the world, and have visited
many countries. Tell me whom you consider to be
the happiest man living? "

" The happiest man living I consider to be a certain
poor man who lives in Athens," replied Solon.

The king was surprised at this answer, for he had
made certain that Solon would name him himself; yet,
for all that, the philosopher had named a perifectly
obscure individual!

" Why do you say that? " asked Croesus.
299

300 Croesus and Solon

" Because," replied Solon, " the man of whom I
speak has worked hard all his life, has been content
with little, has reared fine children, has served his
city honourably, and has achieved a noble reputation."

When Croesus heard this he exclaimed:

" And do you reckon my happiness as nothing, and
consider that I am not fit to be compared with the
man of whom you speak? "

To which Solon replied:

" Often it befalls that a poor man is happier than a
rich man. Call no man happy until he is dead."

The king dismissed Solon, for he was not pleased at
his words, and had no belief in him.

"A fig for melancholy! " he thought. " Wliile a
man lives he should live for pleasure."

So he forgot about Solon entirely.

Not long afterwards the king's son went hunting,
but wounded himself by a mischance, and died of the
wound. Next, it was told to Croesus that the powerful
Emperor Cyrus was coming to make war upon him.

So Croesus went out against Cyrus with a great army,
but the enemy proved the stronger, and, having won
the battle and shattered Croesus' forces, penetrated to
the capital.

Then the foreign soldiers began to pillage all King
Croesus' riches, and to slay the inhabitants, and to
sack and fire the city. One soldier seized Croesus
himself, and was just about to stab him, when the
king's son darted forward to defend his father, and
cried aloud:

" Do not touch him! That is Croesus, the king! "

So the soldiers bound Croesus, and carried him away
to the Emperor; but Cyrus was celebrating his victory
at a banquet, and could not speak with the captive,
so orders were sent out for Croesus to be executed.

In the middle of the city square the soldiers built a
great burning-pile, and upon the top of it they placed
King Croesus, bound him to a stake, and set fire to the
pile.

Croesus gazed around him, upon his city and upon

Crcesus and Solon 301

his palace. Then he remembered the words of the
Greek philosopher, and, bursting into tears, could only
say:

"Ah, Solon, Solon!"

The soldiers were closing in about the pile when the
Emperor Cyrus arrived in person to view the execution.
As he did so he caught these v/ords uttered by Croesus,
but could not understand them.

So he commanded Croesus to be taken from the pile,
and inquired of him what he had just said. Croesus
answered :

" I was but naming the name of a wise man — of one
who told me a great truth — a truth that is of greater
worth than all earthly riches, than all our kingly
glory."

And Croesus related to C5n:us his conversation
with Solon. The story touched the heart of the
Emperor, for he bethought him that he too was but
a man, that he too knew not what Fate might have
in store for him. So in the end he had mercy upon
Croesus, and became his friend.

NEGLECT A FIRE, AND 'TWILL NOT BE
QUENCHED

"Then came Peter to Him, and said. Lord, how oft shall my
brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times?

Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times, but,
until seventy times seven.

Therefore is the Kingdom of Heaven likened unto a certain king
which would take account of his servants.

And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him
which owed him ten thousand talents.

But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him
to be sold, and his wife and children, and all that he had, and pay-
ment to be made.

The servant therefore fell down and worshipped him, saj-ing.
Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.

Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and
loosed him, and forgave him the debt.

But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellow
servants which owed him an hundred pence ; and he laid hands on
him, and took him by the throat, saying. Pay me that thou owest.

And his fellow servant fell down at his feet, and besought him,
saying. Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.

And he would not, but went and cast him into prison, till he
should pay the debt.

So when his fellow servants saw what was done, they were very
sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done.

Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, O
thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou
desiredst me :

Shouldst not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow servant,
even as I had pity on thee?

And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors,
till he should pay all that was due unto him.

So likewise shall My Heavenly P'ather do also unto you if ye
from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses."

(Matt, xviii. 21-35.)

In a certain village there lived a peasant named Ivan
Shtchevbakoff. He lived comfortably enough, for
he himself was strong and the best worker in the village,
and, moreover, he had three sons of full age. One of
these sons was married, another one engaged to be
married, and the third one a youngster old enough to
look after the horses and to have begun to learn to
302

Neglect a Fire 303

plough. Likewise, Ivan's wife was a sensible, man-
aging woman, and his daughter-in-law had proved
herself a peaceable, hard-working girl. So he and his
family did very well. The only mouth in the home-
stead that did not feed itself was that of the old
father, who suffered from asthma, and had now been
lying seven years by the stove. Ivan possessed
plenty of stock — three mares and their foals, a cow
with a weaning calf, and fifteen sheep — and, while
the women of the family made boots for the household,
sewed the men's clothing, and helped in the fields,
the men of the family did the rough work of a peasant's
life. If the stock of grain gave out before the next
harvest was due, the sale of a few sheep soon put the
family's requirements to rights; so that, what with
one thing and what with another, the household did
well.

Unfortunately, however, there lived next door to
them a certain Gabriel Chromoi,^ the son of Gordei
Ivanoff , and between him and Ivan there arose a feud.

So long as old Gordei — this Gordei's father — had
been alive, and Ivan's father still ruled the roost at
Ivan's place, the two households had lived on neigh-
bourly terms. If the women had need of a sieve or a
bucket, or the men of an axle-tree or a wheel, the one
household would send and borrow them of the other,
and help each other as neighbours should do. Again,
if a calf strayed from its rightful premises into the
other family's threshing-floor, it would merely be
driven out again with the request, " Please do not let
your calf stray here, for we have not yet stacked our
rick." But as for filching anything from one another,
or for shutting up anything belonging to the other in
barn or stable, such things were unknown in either
establishment.

That is how things were in the time of the old men;
but when their sons came to be master things were
otherwise.

It aU arose from a trifle.

^ Chromoi = !.£., the Lame.

304 Neglect a Fire

A young pullet belonging to Ivan's daughter-in-law
began to lay early. In fact, the young woman was
collecting eggs even before Holy Week, and went every
day to the shed, where she would find an egg laid in the
wagon. But one day, it appeared, the children
frightened the pullet, so that she flew over the fence
into the neighbours' yard, and laid there. The young
woman heard the cackling, but thought to herself, " I
have no time to get the egg now, for I have so much
to get ready for the festival. I will go at supper-time
and fetch it."

So in the evening she went to the wagon under the
shed — but there was no egg there. She asked her
mother- and brothers-in-law if they had taken it, but
they said no. Tarass, the youngest one, added, " The
pullet must have laid in the neighbours' yard, for I
heard her cackling there, and saw her fly back again."

So the young woman went to look for the pullet,
and found her roosting on the beam with the cock.
Her eyes were closing already, and she was preparing
for her night's rest. The young woman would have
asked her where she had laid if it had been possible
for the pullet to answer, but, as it was, she went round
to the neighbours', and was met at the door by the
old woman.

" What do j'ou want, my girl? " she asked.

" Only this, grandmother, that my pullet flew over
into your place to-day, and we think she must have
laid an egg there."

" We haven't seen it, then. We have our own eggs,
and God sent that they were laid hours ago. All those
that we collected were our own, and we have no need
of other peo])le's. We do not go collecting eggs in
yards which don't belong to us, my girl."

The young woman was greatly offended at this, and
said the unnecessary word. Her neighbour capped
this with two more, and in a moment they were at it
hammer and tongs. Presently Ivan's wife came out
with a bucket of water, and of course joined in the fray.
Next, Gabriel's wife ran out of the door, and gave her

And 'twill not be Quenched 305

neighbours the rough side of her tongue, regardless of
what was fact and what was fiction. In short, there
was a general uproar. Everyone shouted at the top
of her voice, gabbling two words to the other's one,
and every word a term of abuse. " You are this! "
could be heard, or " You are that! " " You are a
thief and a slut!" "May you and your father-in-
law die of the plague together! " and " You are a
cadger of other people's things ! " were some of the
other expressions used,

" You everlasting borrower, you have worn my
sieve simply to shreds! " would cry one of the women.

" Well, you have got our yoke in your place at this
moment," would retort the other. " Give us back
our yoke at once."

So, wrangling about the yoke, they managed to
upset the water, tore each other's clothes, and came
in good earnest to blows, At this moment Gabriel
arrived from the field, and took his wife's part, where-
upon Ivan and one of his sons issued from the other hut,
and likewise swelled the tumult. Ivan was a muscular
peasant, and thrust everyone aside. Eventually
other peasants came running in to part the combatants,
but not before Ivan had torn out a handful of Gabriel's
beard.

That was how it all began. Gabriel wrapped his
tuft of beard in newspaper, and went off to institute
proceedings in the district court.

" I did not grow that piece of beard," he said, " for
any tow-headed Ivans to pull out."

As for his wife, she did not let her neighbours forget
that Ivan would assuredly be convicted and sent to
Siberia.

So the feud went on.

Yet from the very first day the old man by the stove
preached to them reconciliation. Yet the young
people would not listen to him.

" You are acting foolishly, my children," he said.
" You are making a great matter out of a trifle. Be-
think yourselves — the whole affair has arisen out of an

X

3o6 Neglect a Fire

egg^an egg that was run off with only by the
little bairns! One egg is no great loss. Yet,
although you have spoken in enmity, there is yet time
to smooth it away and to learn better things. So long
as you remain at variance you remain in sin. It
must always be so. Go, then, and ask pardon of one
another, and let our houses have but one roof again.
If you harbour malice it cannot but be the worse for
you as time goes on."

But the young people would not listen to him, for
they thought that he did not understand the matter,
and that he spoke with the garrulity of an old man.

Ivan also would not cry quits with his neighbour.

" I did not tear his beard," he declared. " He tore
it out himself. On the other hand, he did tear the
skirts of my blouse, not to speak of my shirt. Just
look at it!"

So Ivan instituted proceedings in his turn, and the
matter came before both the local and the district
courts. While the case was still pending, a linch-pin
chanced to disappear from Gabriel's cart. For this
his womenkind blamed one of Ivan's sons.

" We saw him pass the window last night," they
declared, " and go in the direction of the cart. Besides,
a neighbour has given us the word that he went to an
inn last night and pawned a linch-pin with the inn-
keeper."

So another suit was instituted, and every day there
would be quarrels and fighting between the two huts.
Even the children got set by the ears, in imitation of
their elders, while the women could never meet by the
brook without falling to with their rolling-pins and
showering abuse — most evil abuse — upon one another.

In time these peasants went on from making accusa-
tions against one another to filching each other's
property whenever they were short of anything. The
women and children learnt to do likewise, and things
went from bad to worse. Ivan and Gabriel brought
constant suits against one another, both at parish
assemblies and before the local and district courts,

And 'twill not be Quenched 307

until everyone was sick to death of their quarrels.
One day Gabriel would have Ivan fined or imprisoned,
and the next day Ivan would do the same by Gabriel.
The more they hurt one another, the more embittered
they grew. We all know that when dogs fight, they
fight the more furiously if struck, for the one struck
thinks that it is the other one biting him, and hangs on
the more determinedly. In the same way these two
peasants would sue each other, and one of them be
punished with fine or imprisonment — with the result
that the enmity of the pair would be more deadly even
than before. " Wait a little, and I will be even with
you! " was their mutual attitude.

Things went on thus for six years. Yet the old
man by the stove never altered his advice.

" What are you doing, my children? " he would say.
" Have done with old scores, and let the matter drop.
Cease to be bitter against these neighbours of ours,
and all will go well with you. On the other hand,
the longer you cherish your bitterness the worse will
things become.'

Yet they would not listen to the old man.

In the seventh year of the feud matters were
brought to a head by Ivan's daughter-in-law putting
Gabriel to shame before the whole company at a
wedding-feast by accusing him of horse-stealing.
Gabriel was drunk at the time, and not master of him-
self, so that he struck the woman — struck her with
such clumsy aim, moreover, that she was laid in bed
for a week, for she was pregnant. Ivan was over-
joyed at this, and at once set off to the public pro-
secutor with an indictment, thinking: " Now at last
I shall get rid of this precious neighbour of mine.
He is bound to get either prison or Siberia." Yet his
plea did not wholly succeed, for the public prosecutor
declined to receive the indictment on the ground that,
as the woman had recovered and showed no marks of
injury when examined, it was a matter for the local
courts only. So Ivan went to the mirovoi,'- who

^ Local magistrate.

3o8 Neglect a Fire

passed the case on to the district court. Ivan fussed
about the precincts of the court, regaled the clerk and
the usher on half a gallon of sweet cider, and pressed
for a sentence of flogging to be awarded. And eventu-
ally the sentence was read out.

" The court ordains," read the clerk, " that Gabriel
Gordieff, peasant, do receive twenty strokes within
the precincts of the district police-station."

When Ivan heard the sentence he glanced at Gabriel.
" How does he like it now? " he thought.

As for Gabriel, he turned as white as a sheet when the
sentence was declared. Then he turned and went out
into the corridor. Ivan followed him, and was just
moving towards his horse when he heard Gabriel
saying something.

" Very well," were Gabriel's words. " He is going
to have my back flogged for me, and it wiU burn sorely;
yet I pray that he and his may burn more sorely still."

When Ivan caught these words he at once returned
into court.

" Your worship,." he said, " this man has just
threatened me with arson. Pray take the evidence of
witnesses before whom he did it."

So Gabriel was sent for.

" Is it true that you said this? " he was asked.

" I said nothing," replied Gabriel. " Flog me if you
wish. It seems that I only am to suffer, though in the
right, whereas he may do what he pleases.'

And he was about to say more, when his lips and
cheeks started quivering, and he turned his face to the
wall. Even the magistrates were moved as they
looked at him. " Can he really have threatened evil
against his neighbour," they thought, " or was he only
cursing at himself? "

So the senior magistrate said:

" See here, my good fellows. Would it not be better
for you to be reconciled? For, look you, my good
Gabriel, was it right what you did, to strike a pregnant
woman? If you had right on your side, God has
pardoned the deed, however sinful. But had you such

And 'twill not be Quenched 309

right? No, assuredly you had not. Yet, if you will
plead guilty and express your contrition to the pro-
secutor, I feel sure that he will pardon you, and we will
then annul the sentence."

Hearing this the clerk intervened.

" That cannot be done," he said. " The 117th
Article of the Penal Code forbids reconciliation of the
parties when once sentence has been passed. There-
fore the sentence must be carried out."

But the magistrate paid no attention to him.

"Enough!" he said. "Hold your tongue! The
article which chiefly concerns us is this : In all things
remember God. And God has commanded us to be
reconciled, the one with the other."

So he tried again to persuade the two peasants to see
reason, but without success, for Gabriel would not
listen to him.

" I am a man wanting but a year of fifty," he said,
" and have a married son. Never since my boyhood
have I been beaten. Yet now, when this scoundrel
Ivan has brought me under the lash, I am to cry
pardon to him! Nay, let things be. But he shall
have cause to remember me."

Again his voice broke, and he could say no more, but
turned and left the court-room.

From the district town to Ivan's home was a distance
of ten versts, so that it was quite late when Ivan
reached there, and the women had gone to bring the
sheep home. He unsaddled his horse and stabled
it, and then entered the hut. There was no one
within, since his sons were not yet back from the
fields, and the women had gone to fetch the sheep.
Seating himself upon a bench, he plunged into thought.
He recalled the passing of the sentence upon Gabriel,
and how Gabriel had blanched as he heard it and
turned his face to the wall. Ivan's heart suddenly
contracted. He pictured to himself what it might
have been like if he himself had been sentenced to
be flogged, and he felt sorry for Gabriel. At that
moment he heard the old man on the stove begin

3IO Neglect a Fire

coughing, and then turn himself over, put his feet to
the floor, and stand up. Having risen, the old man
dragged himself to the bench, and sat down beside
Ivan. The effort of getting so far had exhausted him,
and for a moment or two he could only cough. At
length, when his coughing fit was passed, he leaned
forward over the table and said:

" Well? Did the court try the case? "

" Yes," answered Ivan, " and sentenced Gabriel
to twenty strokes."

The old man shook his head.

" That is bad, Ivan," he said, " as also is all this
that you are doing. You are harming yourself even
more than him. Even when he has been flogged,
how will you be the better off ? "

" This much — that he will refrain from doing such
things again."

"But what things? What worse things has he
done than you? "

" Nay, but what has he not done? " cried Ivan.
" He nearly killed my daughter-in-law, and now
threatens to fire my farm! Why should I knuckle
under to him? "

The old man sighed, and said:

" You, Ivan, can walk and ride about the world,
while I have to lie the year round on the stove; so
that perhaps you think that you see everything and
I nothing. But no, my son, it is not so. There is
very little that you see, for hatred has blinded your
eyes. Others' sins you see, but not your own, for
them you place behind your back. You said just now
that Gabriel has done you much evil. Yet, if he had
been the only one who had done evil, there would have
been no quarrel between you. Can a dispute between
two men arise from one side only? No, it takes two
to make a quarrel. His wrong-doing you see, but
not your own. If all the wrong had been on his side,
and all the right on yours, bad blood could never have
been made. Who was it tore his beard? Who was
it overturned his rick when stacked? Who was it

And 'twill not be Quenched 31 1

first haled the other before the courts, and is hahng
him still? Nay, but your ovm way of life is wrong,
and that is whence the ill comes. I never lived so,
my son, and never taught you to do so. How did
I live with the old man, his father? Why, on neigh-
bourly terms, as neighbours should do. If they ran
short of meal, his wife would come to me and say:
' Good Uncle Frol, our meal has given out.' ' Go,
then, young woman,' I would say, ' to the binn and
take as much as you require.' Again, if they were
lacking a hand to lead the horses at ploughing, I
would say to you: 'Go, little Ivan, and help them
with the horses.' Then, in my turn, if I were short of
anything, I would go to his father and say: ' Uncle
Gordei, I am put to it for such and such an article.'
'Take it, then, good Uncle Frol,' he would reply;
and thus it always was with us, and life went smoothly.
But how does it go now? Only to-day a soldier was
speaking to me of Plevna; yet you and Gabriel are
waging a more grievous battle than ever there was
fought at Plevna, Is this the proper way to live,
then? No, it is not — it is sinful. You are a peasant
and the master of a home. I would ask you, then —
what sort of a lesson are you teaching to your women-
kind and children? Why, you are but teaching them
to fight as dogs fight. To-day I saw that little rascal
Tarass make a face at his Aunt Arina before his mother,
and yet his mother only laughed at him. Is that
right, I ask you? Are such things as that to be?
Are you to say a word to me, and I two in return to
you, and you then to strike me, and I to strike you
twice for your one blow? No, no, my dear son.
That was not how Christ taught us poor fools when
He walked this earth of ours. He taught us that to
abuse we should return no answer, and his own con-
science would convict the offender. Yes, that is
what Our Little Father taught us. And if a man
should smite us on the one cheek, we should turn to
him the other also, and even submit ourselves to
death at his hands if need be. His own conscience

312 Neglect a Fire

would convict him some day, and he would become
reconciled and beg for pardon. Yes, that is what
Christ taught us, and not pride. But why are j'ou
thus silent? Is it not as I say? "

But Ivan returned no answer as he listened.

The old man coughed, cleared his throat with
difficulty, and went on :

" Maybe you think that Christ taught us amiss?
Yet his teaching was meant for us aU, and for our good.
Consider now your worldly substance ; has it increased
or decreased since this Plevna was begun between you
two? Cast up how much you have spent on law-
costs, on journeying to court and expenses. Here
are you, with three sons strong as eagles, and with
plenty to live upon; yet, for all that, you must go
seeking misfortune and wasting your means! And
why? Simply through pride. You ought to be out
in the fields with your sons — ploughing and sowing;
yet you spend your time forever haling your enemy
to court over some triiie or another. The ploughing
is delayed, and the seeding, and so our Mother Earth
does not bear. Why are the oats not sprouting yet?
When were they sown? You had to go to town,
forsooth. Yet what have you gained by your law-
suiting? Only a load round your own neck. Ah,
my son, remember what is your proper work in life.
Turn again to your ploughing and your sons and your
home, and if any man offends you, pardon him as God
has bidden us do. Then will everything go better with
you, and there will always be peace in your soul."

Still Ivan said nothing.

" But see here, now, dear Ivan," went on his father.
" Listen to me who am an old man. Saddle the roan
horse, and go back to the police-station and cancel
your suit. Then, in the morning, go to Gabriel and
ask pardon of him in God's name, and invite him to
your home for the festival. To-morrow, the birthday
of Our Lady, set out the samovar, take a half-bottle,
and renounce this sinfulness for ever. Ay, and bid
the women and children do the same."

And 'twill not be Quenched 313

Ivan sighed as he thought to himself: " Assuredly
the old man is right, onl}/ I know not how to do this —
how I am to become reconciled."

The old man seemed to have guessed his thoughts,
for he said:

" Nay, but do not delay, dear Ivan. A fire should
be quenched at the start, else, if it burn up, it may
never be mastered."

He was going on to say more, when the women
entered, chattering like magpies. Already they had
heard the whole story of Gabriel being sentenced to a
flogging and of his making threats of arson. Yes,
they knew all about it, and had hastened to put their
oar in by getting up a quarrel with Gabriel's women-
folk at the pasture-ground. Now they burst out with
the news that Gabriel's daughter-in-law had threatened
them with the public prosecutor, whom she declared
to be intervening on Gabriel's behalf. The public
prosecutor (so said the women) was reviewing the
whole case, and the schoolmaster had written out a
petition to the Tsar in person, and in this petition
every suit was set forth from the beginning — the one
about the linch-pin, and the one about the garden-
ground, and so on — and half Ivan's land would be
given to Gabriel as compensation.

When Ivan heard all this his heart grew hard again,
and he thought better of being reconciled to his ad-
versary.

A farmer always has much to do on his farm,
so, instead of discussing matters with the women,
Ivan rose and left the hut. By the time he had
cleared up things in the barn and stable the sun had
set and liis sons were returning from the fields, where
they had been ploughing a double tilth during the
winter in readiness for the spring corn. Ivan met
them and asked them about their work, after which
he helped them to take the harness off the horses,
laid aside a broken horse-collar for repairs, and was
for stowing away some poles in the stable, but it was
getting too dark to see. So he left the poles till the

314 Neglect a Fire

morning, and, after feeding the stock, opened the
gates for young Tarass to take the horses across the
roadway to their night pasture. Finally, he closed
the gates, put up the board which fastened them,
picked up the broken horse-collar and walked towards
the hut, thinking: " It is time now for supper and bed,"
At the moment he had forgotten all about Gabriel,
as well as about his father's words; yet he had no
sooner laid his hand upon the door-knob to enter the
porch, than he heard his neighbour shout out in a
hoarse voice to someone on the other side of the fence :
" To the devil with him! I could kill him! "

These words aroused in Ivan all his old enmity
against his neighbour, and he waited to hear what
more he might say. ISut nothing further came from
Gabriel, so Ivan went indoors. The lamp had just
been lit, the young woman was sitting at her loom
in the corner, the goodwife was preparing supper, the
eldest son was putting a patch into his bast shoes,
the second son was reading a book at the table, and
little Tarass was getting himself ready to go and sleep
in the horse-stable over the way. Everything would
have looked cosy and cheerful had it not been for that
one blighting influence — their wicked neighbour.

Ivan came in tired, turned the cat off the bench,
and rated the women for having put the stove-couch
out of its place. He sat down with knitted brows to
mend the horse-collar, but felt restless somehow.
Gabriel's words would keep running through his head
— both the threats he had uttered in the court-house,
and the words he had just shouted in a hoarse voice
to someone behind the fence: " I could kill him! "

Meanwhile the goodwife was bustling about to give
young Tarass his supper. As soon as he had eaten it,
he put on his little sheepskin and kaftan, belted them
round, took a hunch of bread, and went out to drive
the mares down the street. His eldest brother was
for going with him, but Ivan himself rose and accom-
panied him out on to the steps. It was quite dark
now in the yard, for the sky was overcast and a wind

And 'twill not be Quenched 315

was rising, Ivan descended from the steps to mount
his little son, and, having shoo'ed the foals after him,
stood watching them depart. He could hear Tarass
go riding along the street, until joined by other boys,
and then the sound of them die away. Yet he still
hung about the gates, for Gabriel's words would not
leave his mind: " I pray that he and his may burn
more sorely still."

"He would not hesitate to do it," thought Ivan.
" Everything is standing dry now, and there is a wind
blowing, so that if he were to get in somewhere at
the back, and fire things from there, it would make a
terrible blaze. The wind would fan it too fiercely
for it ever to stop. Yes, once it were alight there
would be no putting it out."

The idea took such a hold upon Ivan that, instead of
returning to the steps, he went out into the roadway,
and then round behind the gates.

" Suppose I make a complete inspection of the
place? " 1 e thought. " Who knows what that man
may not be up to? " So he left the gates, and went
along with stealthy tread until he came to the corner.
There, as he glanced along the wall, he thought he
could discern something moving — something which
jutted out at one moment, and became hidden in a
recess the next. He stopped and remained absolutely
still as he listened and watched. Yet all was quiet.
Only the wind kept shaking the leaves of a vine-stock
and moaning through its stems. It was very dark,
yet not so completely so but that, by straining his eyes,
Ivan could distinguish the outlines of things — of the
back wall, a plough, and the eaves overhead. He
listened and watched, but there seemed to be no one
there.

" I cannot help thinking that I saw a glimmer just
now," he said to himself. " Suppose I were to go
right round the place ? " So he crept stealthily along
under the stable, walking so softly in his bast shoes
that he could not even hear liis own footsteps. He
had almost reached the recess when lo! something

3i6 Neglect a Fire

flashed for a moment beside the plough, and then
disappeared. Ivan's heart gave a thump, and he
stopped dead. Yet even as he did so there came a
brighter ghmmer at that spot — a ghmmer which
revealed a man in a cap — a man kneeling back upon
his heels and engaged in lighting a tuft of straw which
he held in his hands. Ivan's heart beat in his breast
like a bird fluttering, as, stiffening himself all over,
he darted forward with long strides, but too softly
for him even to hear his own footsteps. " He shall
not escape me! " he thought. " I will catch him in
the very act! "

He had not advanced another couple of strides
when suddenly a brilliant light flared up — but not
from the spot low down in the recess, for the wattling
of the wall flamed up in the eaves, and thence the
fire was carried on to the roof. In the hght of the
flames Gabriel stood revealed as clear as day.

Ivan made for the lame man as a hawk stoops to
a lark. " I will wring his neck now," he thought,
" for he cannot escape me." Yet the lame man must
suddenly have heard his footsteps, for he glanced
round, and then, with a sudden turn of speed, limped
away like a hare.

" You shall not escape me! " shouted Ivan as he
flew in pursuit. Just as he was on the point of seizing
him by the collar, the hunted man doubled, and Ivan's
hands clutched the tail of his coat only. The tail
tore away, and Ivan fell forwards. Instantly leaping
up again, he shouted, " Watchman! Hold him! "
and resumed the chase.

Yet, while he had been scrambling to his feet,
Gabriel had regained his own ysLvd. Ivan pursued
him there, and was once more on the point of seizing
him, when something crashed down upon his head,
like a rock falling from above. Gabriel had picked
up an oaken stake lying in the yard, swung it aloft
to the full extent of his arm, and brought it down
upon Ivan's head just as the latter ran in upon him.

Ivan blinked his eyes, and sparks flashed before

And 'twill not be Quenched 317

them. Then all grew dark as he staggered and fell
to the ground. When he came to himself again
Gabriel had disappeared, and it was as light as day,
while from the direction of his own yard there came
a crackling, rattling sort of a sound, like a machine
at work. Ivan turned his head and saw that the
whole of the back shed was ablaze, and that the side
shed too had caught, while flames and smoke and bits
of burning straw in the smoke were being carried in a
stream on to the hut.

" Help, neighbours!*" cried Ivan, raising his hands
in despair and smacking them down upon his thighs.
" Pull the burning stuff from the eaves for me, and
stamp it out! Help, good neighbours! "

He tried to keep on shouting, but his breath failed
him and his voice choked. Then he tried to start
running, but his legs refused to move, and kept
catching against one another. Whenever he took a
step fon\'ard he staggered, and his breath failed,
so that he had to stand still and recover it before he
could move again. At last, however, he managed
to get round the shed and approach the fire. The
side shed was a mass of flames, as also were one corner
of the hut and the porch. Indeed, the flames were
bursting so furiously from the hut that the yard was
impassable. A large crowd had collected, but had done
nothing. Only the neighbours had succeeded in remov-
ing their stock and furniture from their own premises.

Gabriel's place was the next one after Ivan's to be
consumed, and then, the wind carrying the flames
across the roadway, half the village became involved.
The old man had been got out of Ivan's hut only just
in time, while the others had had to lush forth exactly
as they were, and abandon everything. The whole
of the stock except the horses at night pasture had
been consumed, as well as the poultry on the roosting
beams, the carts, the ploughs, the harrows, the
women's chests, and the grain in the binns. On the
other hand, Gabriel's stock was saved, and a certain
amount of his other belongings.

3i8 Neglect a Fire

The fire lasted for a long time — all night, in fact —
and for a while Ivan stood watching his place being
consumed, and reiterating at intervals: " Help,
good neighbours! Pull out the burning stuff and
stamp upon it! " But when at length the roof of
the hut fell in, he rushed into the very heart of the
fire, and, seizing hold of a blazing beam, tried to drag
it out. The women had seen him and called to him to
come back, but he nevertheless dragged out the beam,
and was about to drag out another, when he suddenly
staggered and fell into the flames. His son went in
after him, and got him out, but, although his hair
and beard had been singed, his clothes half burnt away,
and his hands injured, he had felt nothing. " He
has gone mad with grief," said the peasants. In time
the fire began to die down, yet Ivan still stood there,
repeating: " Help, neighbours! Pull out the burning
stuff! "

Next morning the starosta sent his son to him.

" Uncle Ivan," said the son, " your father is dying,
and bade me fetch you to take leave of him."

Ivan had forgotten all about his father, and could
not understand who was referred to.

" Whose father? " he asked. " And who is it he
wants? "

" Yourself. He bade me fetch you to take leave
of him. He is dying in our hut. Come, Uncle Ivan "
— and the starosia's son held out his hand to him.
Ivan went with him.

Some blazing straw had fallen upon the old man
as he was being carried out of the hut the previous
night, and burnt him badly. They had then removed
him to the starosta's hut, which stood in the far out-
skirts of the village, and had escaped the fire.

When Ivan reached his father there was no one in
the hut but an old woman, and some children lying on
the stove; for everyone else was busy at the ruins
of the fire. The old man was lying in a bunk, with a
candle in his hands, and his face turned towards the
door. As soon as his son entered the outer door he

• And 'twill not be Quenched 319

stirred a little, and when the old woman went to tell
him that his son had come, he bade him draw nearer.
Ivan did so, and the old man said:

" What did I tell you, dear Ivan? Who was it
fired the village? "

" He, dear father. He, for I found him at it. With
my own eyes I saw him put the kindling into the eaves.
Ah, if only I had stopped to pull out the burning straw
and stamp upon it! But I had no time."

" Ivan," went on the old man, " my end is near,
and I would have you reconciled. Whose was the
fault? "

Ivan gazed fixedly at his 'ather, but remained
silent. Not a word could he utter.

" Before God, speak," said his father again. " Whose
was the fault? What did I say to you but lately? "

Then at length Ivan came to himself and under-
stood all. He gave a sob and. replied:

" Mine was the fault, dear father."

Then, bursting into tears, he fell upon his knees
and exclaimed:

" Pardon me, O my father! I have sinned both
against you and against God! "

The old man moved his hands and changed the
candle into his left. Then he raised his right hand
towards his forehead as though to cross himself, but
could not stretch it so far, and desisted.

" Glory be to Thee, oh. Lord! Glory be to Thee! "
he murmured as he turned his eyes again upon his son.
" But, Ivan, dear Ivan — "

" What is it, my father? "

" What shall you do now? "

Ivan burst out weeping afresh.

" I know not, dear father," he said. " How, in-
deed, are we to live, now that this has happened? "

The old man closed his eyes, moistened his lips a
little, as though he were collecting all his strength,
and then said, as he re-opened his eyes:

" Live on and prosper. So long as your life be with
God, you will prosper."

320 Neglect a Fire

He was silent for a moment, then smiled gently
and continued:

" Look you, dear Ivan — never say who started the
fire. If you should shield the sins of another, God
will pardon you two of your own " — and, taking the
candle in his two hands, the old man folded them upon
his breast, sighed, stretched himself out, and passed
away.

Ivan never told of Gabriel, and so no one ever
knew whence the fire originated.

Indeed, Ivan's heart went out to Gabriel, while
Gabriel, for his part, was amazed that Ivan had never
informed against him. At first he went in fear of him,
but gradually grew accustomed to the new order of
things; with the result that the two peasants aband-
oned their feud, and their famihes did the same.
While their new homesteads were being built, the two
families lived as one, under the same roof; and when
the whole village had been rebuilt, with its huts put
wider apart, Ivan and Gabriel still remained neigh-
bours, with contiguous homesteads.

Indeed, they lived as good neighbours as their
fathers had done. Never did Ivan Shtchevbakoff
forget the advice of the old man and the law of God —
that a fire should be quenched when it is but a spark.

If any man did him wrong, he would strive, not to
avenge himself, but to right the matter; and if any
man flung him an evil word, he would strive, not to
return a word more evil, but to teach that man a
better one. And in like manner also he taught his
women-folk and sons to do.

Thus Ivan Shtchevbakoff put straight his way of
life, and prospered as he had never done before.

THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCIIVVORTH

University of California Library
Los Angeles ^

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